THE   MATING  OF  LYDIA 


*^-^-^^v.w    '^-  - 


BY  THE   SAME  AUTHOR 

Lady  Merton,  Colonist 

Marriage  a  la  Mode 

The  Testing  of  Diana  Mallory 

MiLLY  AND  OlLY 

Agatha 

The  Marriage  of  William  Ashe 

Lady  Rose's  Daughter 

Eleanor 

Helbeck  of  Bannisdale 

Sir  George  Tressady 

Marcella 

The  History  of  David  Grieve 

Robert  Elsmere 

Miss  Bretherton 

Amiel's  Journal  (translated) 

The  Case  of  Richard  Meynell 


What  was  the  matter,  Felicia  ?  "   he  said,  ti:ently 


ILIiUSTRAfED    BY   CHAaL.FS    E.  3KC<CRl. 


GARDEN  CITV  NEW  YORK 
DOUBLEDAY  PAGE  iT  CO. 
PUBLISHE     IVS 

1913 


Copyright,  1913,  hy 
Mrs.  Humphry  Ward 

All  rights  reserved,  including  thai  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 

COPYRIGHT,    191 2,   BY  AMERICAN  HOME  COMPANY 


TO 

R.  J.   S 


258058 


PACE 


68 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  WHAT    WAS     THE     MATTER,     FELICIA?  "     HE 

SAID    GENTLY    .  .         •         •         •  Frontispiece 

THKY    STOPPED    TO    TALK    WHILE    HE    RESTED 
A    FEW    MINUTES  ... 

"fAVERSHAM!       don't    be    a    fool!       I    HAVE 

something  to  say  to  you,  a  deal 
more  important  than  this  damned 
nonsense!  "...•• 

he   came   to   kneel   down   by  her,   and 
took  her  in  his  arms  . 


274 


490 


BOOK  I 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 


* '  AYE,  it's  a  bit  dampish,"  said  Dixon,  as  he  brought 

/-%  a  couple  more  logs  to  replenish  a  fire  that  seemed 
"^  to  have  no  heart  for  burning. 

The  absurd  moderation  of  the  statement  irritated  the 
person  to  whom  it  was  addressed. 

"What  I'm  thinkin'  "  —  said  Mrs.  Dixon,  impatiently, 
as  she  moved  to  the  window — "is  that  they'll  mappen 
not  get  here  at  all!  The  watter'U  be  over  t'  road  by 
Grier's  mill.  And  yo'  know  varra  well,  it  may  be  runnin' 
too  fasst  to  get  t'  horses  through  —  an'  they'd  be  three 
pussons  inside,  an'  luggage  at  top." 

"  Aye,  they  may  have  to  goa  back  to  Pengarth  —  that's 
varra  possible." 

"An'  all  t'  dinner  spoilin',  an'  t'  fires  wastin'  —  for 
nowt."  The  speaker  stood  peering  discontentedly  into 
the  gloom  without:  "But  you'll  not  trouble  yoursen, 
Tammas,  I  daursay." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  Godamighty  to  mak'  t'  rain  gie  over," 
was  the  man's  cheerful  reply,  as  he  took  the  bellows  to 
the  damp  wood  which  lay  feebly  crackling  and  fizzing  on 
the  wide  hearth.  His  exertions  produced  a  spasmodic 
flame,  which  sent  flickering  tongues  of  light  through  the 
wide  spaces  and  shadows  of  the  hall.     Otherwise  the  deep- 


4  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

ening  gloom  oi  the  October  evening  was  lightened  only  by 
the  rays  of  one  feebly  burning  lamp  standing  apparently 
in  a  corridor  or  gallery  just  visible  beyond  a  richly  pillared 
archway  which  led  from  the  hall  to  the  interior  of  the 
house.  Through  this  archway  could  be  seen  the  dim 
ascending  lines  of  a  great  double  staircase;  while  here 
and  there  a  white  carved  doorway  or  cornice  glimmered 
from  the  darkness. 

A  stately  Georgian  house,  built  in  a  rich  classical  style, 
and  dating  from  1740:  so  a  trained  eye  would  have 
interpreted  the  architectural  and  decorative  features 
faintly  disclosed  by  lamp  and  fire.  But  the  house  and  its 
contents  —  the  house  and  its  condition  —  were  strangely 
at  war.  Everywhere  the  seemly  lines  and  lovely  orna- 
ment due  to  its  original  builders  were  spoilt  or  obliterated 
by  the  sordid  confusion  to  which  some  modern  owner  had 
brought  it.  It  was  not  a  house  apparently,  so  far  as  its 
present  use  went,  but  a  warehouse.  There  was  properly 
speaking  no  furniture  in  it;  only  a  multitude  of  packing- 
cases,  boxes  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  piled  upon  or  leaning 
against  each  other.  The  hall  was  choked  with  them,  so 
that  only  a  gangway  a  couple  of  yards  wide  was  left,  con- 
necting the  entrance  door  with  the  gallery  and  staircase. 
And  any  one  stepping  into  the  gallery,  which  with  its  high 
arched  roof  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  old  house,  would 
have  seen  it  also  disfigured  in  the  same  way.  The  huge 
deal  cases  stood  on  bare  boards ;  the  splendid  staircase  was 
carpetless.  Nothing  indeed  could  have  been  more  repel- 
lant  than  the  general  aspect,  the  squalid  disarray  of 
Threlfall  Tower,  as  seen  from  the  inside,  on  this  dreary 
evening. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  5 

The  fact  impressed  itself  on  Mrs.  Dixon  as  she  turned 
back  from  the  window  toward  her  husband. 

She  looked  round  her  sulkily. 

"Well,  I've  done  my  best,  Tammas,  and  I  daursay  yo' 
have  too.  But  it's  not  a  place  to  bring  a  leddy  to  —  an' 
that's  the  truth." 

"Foaks  mun  please  theirsels,"  said  Dixon  with  the  same 
studied  mildness  as  before.  Then,  having  at  last  made 
the  logs  burn,  as  he  hoped,  with  some  brightness,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  sweep  up  the  wide  stone  hearth.  "Is  t'  rooms 
upstairs  finished?" 

"Aye  —  hours  ago."  His  wife  dropped  with  a  weary 
gesture  upon  a  chair  near  the  fire.  "Tammas,  yo'  know 
it's  a  queer  thing  awthegither!  What  are  they  coomin' 
here  for  at  all?" 

"Well,  master's  coom  into  t'  property,  an'  I'm  thinkin' 
it's  nobbut  his  dooty  to  coom  an'  see  it.  It's  two  year 
sen  he  came  into  't;  an'  he's  done  nowt  but  tak'  t'  rents, 
an'  turn  off  men,  an'  clutter  up  t'  house  wi'  boxes,  iver 
sense.  It's  time,  I'm  thinkin',  as  he  did  coom  an'  luke 
into  things  a  bit." 

Thomas  rose  from  his  knees,  and  stood  warming  himself 
at  the  fire,  while  he  looked  pensively  round  him.  He  was 
as  tired  as  his  wife,  and  quite  as  mistrustful  of  what  might 
be  before  them;  but  he  was  not  going  to  confess  it.  He 
was  a  lean  and  gaunt  fellow,  blue-eyed  and  broad-shoul- 
dered, of  a  Cumbria  type  commonly  held  to  be  of  Scandi- 
navian origin.  His  eye  was  a  little  wandering  and  absent, 
and  the  ragged  gray  whiskers  which  surrounded  his  coun- 
tenance emphasized  the  slight  incoherence  of  its  expression. 
Quiet  he  was  and  looked.    But  his  wife  knew  him  for  one  of 


6  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

the  most  incurably  obstinate  of  men;  the  inveterate  critic 
moreover  of  everything  and  every  one  about  him,  begin- 
ning with  herself.  This  trait  of  his  led  her  unconsciously 
to  throw  most  of  her  remarks  to  him  into  the  form  of 
questions,  as  offering  less  target  to  criticism  than  other 
forms  of  statement.     As  for  instance: 

"Tammas,  did  yo'  hear  me  say  what  I'd  gotten  from 
Mr.  Tyson?" 

"Aye." 

"That  the  mistress  was  an  Eye-talian." 

"Aye  —  by  the  mother  —  an'  popish,  besides." 

Mrs.  Dixon  sighed. 

"How  far  'uU  it  be  to  t'  chapel  at  Scargill  Fell?" 

"Nine  mile.  She'll  not  be  for  takkin'  much  notice  of 
her  Sunday  dooties  I'm  thinkin'." 

"An'  yo'  unnerstan'  she'll  be  juist  a  yoong  thing?  An' t' 
baby  only  juist  walkin'." 

Dixon  nodded.  Suddenly  there  was  a  sound  in  the 
corridor  —  a  girl's  laugh,  and  a  rush  of  feet.  Thomas 
started  slightly,  and  his  wife  observed  him  as  sharply  as 
the  dim  light  permitted. 

"Thyrza!"  she  raised  her  voice  peremptorily.  "What 
are  you  doing  there?" 

Another  laugh,  and  the  girl  from  whom  it  came  ran 
forward  into  the  lamp-light,  threading  her  way  through 
the  packing-cases,  and  followed  by  a  small  fox-terrier  who 
was  jumping  round  her. 

"Doin'?  There's  nowt  more  to  do  as  I  know  on.  An' 
I'm  most  droppin'." 

So  saying  the  girl  jumped  lightly  on  one  of  the  larger 
packing-cases  and  sat  there,  her  feet  dangling. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  7 

Mrs.  Dixon  looked  at  her  with  disapproval,  but  held  her 
tongue.  Thyrza  was  not  strictly  her  underling,  though 
she  was  helping  in  the  housework.  She  was  the  daughter 
of  the  small  farmer  who  had  been  for  years  the  tenant  of 
part  of  the  old  house,  and  had  only  just  been  evicted  in 
preparation  for  the  return  of  the  owner  of  the  property 
with  his  foreign  wife.  If  Thyrza  were  too  much  scolded 
she  would  take  her  ways  home,  and,  as  her  parents  spoilt 
her,  she  would  not  be  coerced  into  returning.  And  how 
another  "day-girl"  was  to  be  found  in  that  remote  place, 
where,  beyond  the  farm,  a  small  house  belonging  to  the 
agent,  and  a  couple  of  cottages,  the  nearest  house  to  the 
Tower  was  at  least  three  miles  away,  Mrs.  Dixon  did  not 
know. 

"My  word!  what  a  night!"  said  Thyrza  with  another 
laugh  a  little  stifled  by  the  sweets  she  had  just  transferred 
from  her  pocket  to  her  mouth.  "They'll  be  drowned  oot 
afore  they  get  here." 

As  she  spoke,  a  wild  gust  flung  itself  over  the  house, 
as  though  trying  its  strength  against  the  doors  and  win- 
dows, and  the  rain  swished  against  the  panes. 

"Are  t'  fires  upstairs  burnin'  reet?"  asked  Mrs.  Dixon 
severely.  She  had  aheady  told  Thyrza  half  a  dozen  times 
that  day  that  such  a  greed  for  sweet  things  as  she  dis- 
played would  ruin  her  digestion  and  her  teeth;  and  it 
nrffled  a  dictatorial  temper  to  be  taken  no  more  notice  of 
than  if  she  v/ere  a  duck  quacking  in  the  farmyard. 

"Aye,  they're  burnin',"  said  Thyrza,  with  a  shrug. 
Then  she  looked  round  her  with  a  toss  of  her  decidedly 
graceful  head.  "But  it's  a  creepy  old  place  howivver. 
I'd  not  live  here  if  I  was  paid.     What  does  Muster  Melrose 


8  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

want  wi'  coomin'  here?  He's  got  lots  o'  money,  Mr.  Tyson 
says.  He'll  nivver  stay.  What  was  the  use  o'  turnin' 
father  out,  an'  makkin'  a  lot  o'  trouble?" 

"This  house  is  not  a  farmin'  house,"  said  Dixon  slowly, 
surveying  the  girl,  as  she  sat  on  the  packing-case  swing- 
ing her  feet,  her  straw-coloured  hair  and  pink  cotton  dress 
making  a  spot  of  pleasant  colour  in  the  darkness  as  the 
lamp-light  fell  on  them.     "It's  a  house  for  t'  gentry." 

"Well,  then,  t'  gentry  might  clean  it  up  an'  put  decent 
furnishin's  into  't,"  said  Thyrza  defiantly.  "Not  a  bit 
o'  paperin'  doon  anywhere  —  juist  two  three  rooms  colour- 
washed, as  yo'  med  do  'em  at  t'  workhouse.  An'  that  big 
hole  in  t'  dinin'-room  ceilin',  juist  as  'twas  —  and  such 
shabby  sticks  o'  things  upstairs  an'  down  as  I  nivver  see ! 
I'll  have  a  good  sight  better  when  I  get  married,  I  know!" 

Contempt  ran  sharply  through  the  girl's  tone. 

As  she  ceased  speaking  a  step  was  heard  in  the  corridor. 
Thyrza  leapt  to  the  ground,  Mrs.  Dixon  picked  up  her 
brush  and  duster,  and  Dixon  resumed  his  tending  of  the 
fire. 

A  man  in  a  dripping  overcoat  and  leggings  pushed  his 
way  rapidly  through  the  cases,  looking  round  him  with  an 
air  of  worried  authority. 

"I  don't  call  that  much  of  a  fire,  Dixon." 

"I've  been  at  it,  sir,  for  near  an  hour." 

"You've  got  some  damp  wood.  What  about  the 
drawing-room?  " 

He  threw  open  a  door  on  the  right.  The  others  followed 
him  in. 

The  open  door  revealed  a  room  of  singular  architectural 
charm;  an  oval  room  panelled  in  dark  oak,  with  a  stucco 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  9 

ceiling,  in  free  Italianate  design.  But  within  its  stately 
and  harmonious  walls  a  single  oil  lamp,  of  the  cheapest 
and  commonest  pattern,  emitting  a  strong  smell  of  paraf- 
fin, threw  its  light  upon  furniture,  quite  new,  that  most 
seaside  lodgings  would  have  disdained;  viz.,  a  cheap  car- 
pet of  a  sickly  brown,  leaving  edges  of  bare  boards  be- 
tween itself  and  the  wainscot;  an  ugly  "suite"  covered 
with  crimson  rep,  such  as  only  a  third-rate  shop  in  a  small 
provincial  town  could  have  provided;  with  a  couple  of 
tables,  and  a  "chiffonier,"  of  the  kind  that  is  hawked  on 
barrows  in  an  East  End  street. 

Mr.  Tyson  looked  at  the  room  uneasily.  He  had  done 
his  best  with  the  ridiculous  sum  provided;  but  of  course 
it  was  all  wrong. 

He  passed  on  silently  through  a  door  in  the  wainscoting 
of  the  drawing-room.  The  others  again  followed,  Thyrza's 
mouth  twitching  with  laughter. 

Another  large  room,  almost  dark,  with  a  few  guttering 
candles  on  the  table.  Mrs.  Dixon  went  hastily  to  the 
fire  and  stirred  it  up.  Then  a  dining-table  spread  for 
supper  was  seen,  and  a  few  chairs.  Everything  here  was 
as  cheap  and  nasty  as  in  the  drawing-room,  including  the 
china  and  glass  on  the  table. 

Thyrza  pointed  to  the  ceiling. 

"That's  a  pity  howivver!"  she  said.  "Yo'  might  ha' 
had  it  mended  up  a  bit,  Mr.  Tyson.  Why  t'  rats  will  be 
coomin'  through!" 

She  spoke  with  the  pert  assurance  of  a  pretty  girl 
who  is  only  playing  the  servant  "to  oblige."  The  agent 
looked  irritably  at  the  ugly  gap  in  the  fine  tracing  over- 
head, and  then  at  Thyrza. 


10  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Mind  your  own  business,  please,  Miss  Thyrza!" 
And  he  walked  quickly  on  toward  a  farther  door. 

Thyrza  flushed,  and  made  a  face  at  him  as  he  turned 
his  back.  The  Dixons  followed  the  agent  into  the  next 
room,  Mrs.  Dixon  throwing  behind  her  an  injunction  to 
Thyrza  to  run  upstairs  and  give  a  last  look  to  the  bed- 
rooms. 

"Why  isn't  there  a  light  here.?"  said  the  agent  im- 
patiently. He  struck  one  from  some  matches  in  his 
pocket,  and  Mrs.  Dixon  hastily  brought  a  candle  from 
a  huge  writing-table  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor. 

Except  for  that  writing-table,  and  some  fine  eighteenth- 
century  bookcases,  brass-latticed,  which  ran  round  the 
walls,  fitting  their  every  line  and  moulding  with  delicate 
precision,  the  room  was  entirely  empty.  Moreover,  the 
bookcases  did  not  hold  a  single  book,  and  the  writing- 
table  was  bare.  But  for  any  person  of  taste,  looking 
round  him  in  the  light  of  the  candle  which  Mrs,  Dixon 
held,  the  room  was  furnished.  All  kinds  of  human  and 
civilized  suggestion  breathed  from  the  table  and  the  book- 
cases. The  contriving  mind,  with  all  its  happy  arts  for 
the  cheating  and  adorning  of  life,  was  to  be  felt. 

Mr.  Tyson  took  it  differently. 

"Look  here!" —  he  said  peremptorily  to  Mrs.  Dixon  — 
"you  mind  what  you're  doing  with  that  table.  It's 
worth  a  mint  of  money." 

The  Dixons  looked  at  it  curiously,  but  coldly.  To 
them  it  was  nothing  but  a  writing-table  with  drawers 
made  out  of  a  highly  polished  outlandish  wood,  with  little 
devices  of  gilt  rails,  and  drawer-furnishings,  and  tiny  fig- 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  11 

ures,  and  little  bits  of  china  "let  in,"  which  might  easily 
catch  a  duster,  thought  Mrs.  Dixon,  and  "mak'  trooble." 
That  it  had  belonged  to  a  French  dramatist  under  Louis 
Quinze,  and  then  to  a  French  Queen;  that  the  plaques 
were  Sevres,  and  the  table  as  a  whole  beyond  the  purse 
of  any  but  a  South  African  or  American  man  of  money, 
was  of  course  nothing  to  her. 

"It  bets  me,"  said  Dixon,  in  the  tone  of  one  making 
conversation,  "why  Muster  Melrose  didn't  gie  us  orders 
to  unpack  soom  more  o'  them  cases.  Summat  like  that- 
ten"  —  he  pointed  to  the  table  —  "  wud  ha'  lukit  fine  i* 
the  drawin'-room." 

Tyson  made  no  reply.  He  w^as  a  young  man  of  strong 
will  and  taciturn  habit;  and  he  fully  realized  that  if  he 
once  began  discussing  with  Dixon  the  various  orders 
received  from  Mr.  Edmund  Melrose  with  regard  to  his 
home-coming,  during  the  preceding  weeks,  the  position 
that  he,  Tyson,  intended  to  maintain  with  regard  to  that 
gentleman  would  not  be  made  any  easier.  If  you  happened 
by  mischance  to  have  accepted  an  appointment  to  serve 
and  represent  a  lunatic,  and  you  discovered  that  you  had 
done  so,  there  were  only  two  things  to  do,  either  to  hold 
on,  or  "to  chuck  it."  But  George  Tyson,  whose  father 
and  grandfather  had  been  small  land  agents  before  him, 
of  the  silent,  honest,  tenacious  Cumbria  sort,  belonged  to 
a  stock  which  had  never  resigned  anything,  till  at  least 
the  next  step  was  clear;  and  the  young  man  had  no  in- 
tention whatever  of  "chucking  it."  But  to  hold  on  cer- 
tainly meant  patience,  and  as  few  words  as  might  be. 

So  he  only  stopped  to  give  one  more  anxious  look  round 
the  table  to  see  that  no  scratches  had  befallen  it  in  the 


12  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

process  of  unpacking,  gave  orders  to  Mrs.  Dixon  to  light 
yet  another  fire  in  the  room,  which  struck  exceedingly 
chill,  and  then  left  them  for  a  final  tour  round  the  ground- 
floor,  heaping  on  coals  everywhere  with  a  generous  hand. 
On  this  point  alone  —  the  point  of  warmth  —  had  Mr. 
Melrose's  letters  shown  a  disposition  to  part  with  money, 
in  ordinary  domestic  way.  "The  odiousness  of  your 
English  climate  is  only  matched  by  the  absurdity  of  your 
English  grates,"  he  had  written,  urbanely,  from  Paris. 
"  Get  the  house  up  to  sixty,  if  you  can.  And  get  a  man 
over  from  Carlisle  to  put  in  a  furnace.  I  can  see  him  the 
day  after  we  arrive.  My  wife  is  Italian,  and  shivers  al- 
ready at  the  thought  of  Cumbria." 

Sixty  indeed!  In  this  dank  rain  from  the  northeast, 
and  on  this  high  ground,  not  a  passage  in  the  house  could 
be  got  above  forty-six;  and  the  sitting-rooms  were  al- 
ternately stifling  and  vaultlike. 

"Well,  I  didn't  build  the  house!"  thought  the  agent 
with  a  quiet  exasperation  in  his  mind,  the  result  of  much 
correspondence;  and  having  completed  his  tour  of  inspec- 
tion, which  included  the  modest  supper  now  cooking 
according  to  Mr.  Melrose's  orders  —  Mrs.  Melrose  had 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it  —  in  the  vast  and  distant 
kitchen,  the  young  man  hung  up  his  wet  overcoat,  sat 
himself  down  by  the  hall  fire,  drew  a  newspaper  from  his 
pocket,  and  deliberately  applied  himself  to  it,  till  the 
carriage  should  arrive. 

Meanwhile  through  the  rain  and  wind  outside,  the 
expected  owner  of  Threlfall  Tower  and  his  wife  and  child 
were  being  driven  through  the  endless  and  intricate  lanes 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  13 

which  divided  the  main  road  between  Keswick  and  Pen- 
garth  from  the  Tower. 

The  carriage  contained  Mr.  Melrose,  Mrs,  Melrose, 
their  infant  daughter  aged  sixteen  months,  and  her  Italian 
nurse,  Anastasia  Doni. 

There  was  still  some  gray  light  left,  but  the  little  lady 
who  sat  dismally  on  her  husband's  right,  occasionally 
peering  through  the  window,  could  make  nothing  of  the 
landscape,  because  of  the  driving  scuds  of  rain  which 
drenched  the  carriage  windows,  as  though  in  their  mad 
charges  from  the  trailing  clouds  in  front,  they  disputed 
every  inch  of  the  mirj^  way  with  the  newcomers.  From 
the  wet  ground  itself  there  seemed  to  rise  a  livid  storm- 
light,  reflecting  the  last  gleams  of  day,  and  showing  the 
dreary  road  winding  ahead,  dim  and  snakelike  through 
intermittent  trees. 

"Edmund!"  said  the  lady  suddenly,  in  a  high  thin 
voice,  as  though  the  words  burst  from  her  —  "  If  the  water 
by  that  mill  they  talked  about  is  really  over  the  road, 
I  shall  get  out  at  once!" 

"  What? —  into  it?  "  The  gentleman  beside  her  laughed 
"I  don't  remember,  my  dear,  that  swinmiing  is  one  of 
your  accomplishments.  Do  you  propose  to  hang  the  baby 
round  your  neck?" 

"Of  course  I  should  take  her  too!  I  won't  rim  any 
risks  at  all  with  her!  It  would  be  simply  wicked  to  take 
such  a  small  child  into  danger."  But  there  was  a  fretful 
desperation  in  the  tone,  as  of  one  long  accustomed  to 
protest  in  vain. 

Mr.  Melrose  laughed  once  more  —  carelessly;  as  though 
it  were   not   worth   while   to   dispute   the   matter;   and 


14  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDTA 

the  carriage  went  on  —  battling,  as  it  seemed,  with  the 
storm. 

"  I  never  saw  such  an  awful  place  in  my  life ! "  said  the 
wife's  voice  again  —  with  the  same  note  of  explosion  — 
after  an  interval.  "  It's  horrible  —  just  horrible!  All  the 
way  from  Pengarth  we've  hardly  seen  a  house,  or  a  light ! 

—  and  we've  been  driving  nearly  an  hour.  You  don't 
expect  me  to  live  here,  Edmund!"  The  tone  was  hys- 
terical. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Netta!  Doesn't  it  ever  rain  in  your 
infernal  country,  eh?  This  is  my  property,  my  dear, 
worse  luck !  I  regret  it  —  but  here  we  are.  Threlfall  has 
got  to  be  my  home  —  so  I  suppose  it'll  be  yours  too." 

"You  could  let  or  sell  it,  Edmund!  —  you  know  you 
could  —  if  you  cared  a  farthing  about  making  me  happy." 

"I  have  every  reason  to  think  it  will  suit  me  perfectly 

—  and  you  too." 

The  tone  of  the  man  which,  hitherto,  though  mocking 
had  been  in  the  main  indulgent,  had  suddenly,  harshly, 
changed.  The  wife  dropped  mto  the  corner  of  the  car- 
riage among  her  furs  and  wraps,  and  said  no  more. 

In  another  quarter  of  an  hour  the  carriage  turned  a 
corner  of  the  road,  and  came  upon  a  tall  building,  of  which 
the  high  irregular  outline  was  just  visible  through  the 
growing  darkness.  In  front  of  it  stood  a  group  of  men 
with  lanterns,  and  the  carriage  stopped  beside  them. 

A  noise  of  tongues  arose,  and  Mr.  Melrose  let  down  the 
window. 

"Is  this  where  the  road  is  flooded?"  he  asked  of  a 
stout  man  in  a  whitish  coat  and  cap  who  had  come  for- 
ward to  speak  to  the  coachman. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  15 

"Aye,  sir  —  but  you'll  get  through.  In  an  hour's  time, 
mebbe  ye  couldn't  do  it.  The  water  fro'  the  mill-race  is 
over  t'  road,  but  it's  nobbut  a  foot  deep  as  yet.  Yo'll 
do  it  varra  well  —  but  yo'd  best  not  lose  time!" 

"Edmund!" —  screamed  the  voice  from  inside  —  "Ed- 
mund!—  let  me  out  —  let  me  out  at  once  —  I  shall  stay 
here  with  baby  for  the  night." 

Mr.  Melrose  took  no  notice  whatever. 

"  Can  you  send  those  men  of  yours  alongside  us  —  in 
case  there  is  any  danger  of  the  coachman  losing  the  road?  " 
he  said,  addressing  the  man. 

"Aye,  they'll  keep  along  t'  bank  with  the  lanterns.  Noa 
fear,  missis,  noa  fear!" 

Another  scream  from  inside.  Mr.  Melrose  shut  the 
window  abruptly,  and  the  coachman  whipped  up  his 
horses. 

"Let  me  get  out,  Edmund!  —  I  will  not  go  on!" 

Melrose  brought  a  hand  of  iron  down  on  his  wife's 
wrist. 

"Be  quiet,  Netta!  Of  all  the  little  idiots !  — There 
now,  the  brat's  begun!" — for  the  poor  babe,  awakened, 
had  set  up  a  wail.  "Damn  it!" — he  turned  fiercely  to 
the  nurse  — "Keep  it  quiet,  will  you?" 

On  swayed  the  carriage,  the  water  splashing  against 
the  wheels.  Carried  by  the  two  labourers  who  walked 
along  a  high  bank  beside  the  road,  a  couple  of  lanterns 
threw  their  wavering  light  on  the  flooded  highway,  the 
dripping,  wind-lashed  trees,  the  steaming  horses.  The 
yellow  rays  showed  the  whirling  eddies  of  autumnal  leaves, 
and  found  fantastic  reflection  in  the  turbid  water  through 
which  the  horses  were  struggling.     Presently  —  after  half 


16  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

a  mile  or  so  —  a  roar  on  the  right  hand.  Mrs.  Melrose 
screamed  again,  only  to  be  once  more  savagely  silenced 
by  her  husband.  It  was  the  roar  of  the  mill-race  ap- 
proaching the  weir,  over  which  it  was  rushing  in  sheets  of 
foam.  The  swollen  river,  a  thunderous  whiteness  beside 
the  road,  seemed  every  moment  as  if  it  must  break  through 
the  raised  bank,  and  sweep  carriage  and  horses  into  its 
own  abyss  of  fury.  Mrs.  Melrose  was  now  too  terrified 
to  cry  out.  She  sat  motionless  and  quivering,  her  baby 
on  her  lap,  her  white  pointed  face  and  straining  eyes 
touched  every  now  and  then  by  a  ghostly  gleam  from  the 
lanterns.  Beside  her  —  whispering  occasional  words  in 
Italian  to  her  mistress  —  sat  the  Italian  nurse,  pale  too, 
but  motionless,  a  woman  from  the  Campagna,  of  a  Roman 
port  and  dignity,  who  would  have  scorned  to  give  the 
master  whom  she  detested  any  excuse  for  dubbing  her  a 
weakling. 

But  the  horses  pulled  bravely,  the  noise  and  the  flood 
were  left  behind,  and  a  bit  of  ascending  road  brought  the 
travellers  on  to  dry  land  again. 

The  carriage  stopped.  The  two  labourers  who  had 
guided  them  approached  the  window,  which  Melrose  had 
let  down. 

"Yo'll  do  now!"  they  shouted  with  cheerful  faces. 
"You've  nobbut  to  do  but  keep  straight  on,  an'  yo'll  be 
at  t'  Tower  in  a  coople  o'  miles." 

"Thank  you,  my  men,  thank  you.  Here's  a  drink  for 
you,"  said  Melrose,  stretching  out  his  hand. 

The  foremost  labourer  took  the  coin  and  held  it  to  the 
lantern.     He  burst  into  rough  laughter. 

"Saxpence!  My  word,  Jim!  — here's  a  gentleman  wot's 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  17 

free  wi'  his  muny.  Saxpence!  Two  men  —  and  two  lan- 
terns—  fur  t'  best  part  of  a  mile!  We're  goin'  cheap 
to-night,  Jim.  Gude  meet  to  yer,  sir,  an'  next  time  yo' 
may  droon  for  me!" 

"Saxpence!"  The  lad  behind  also  applied  his  lantern 
to  the  coin.  "Gie  it  me,  Bob!"  And  raising  it  with  a 
scornful  gesture  he  flung  it  into  the  river.  Then  standing 
still,  with  their  hands  on  their  hips,  the  light  from  the 
lanterns  on  the  ground  breaking  over  their  ruddy  rain- 
washed  faces,  they  poured  out  a  stream  of  jeers  in  broad 
Cumbrian,  from  which  the  coachman,  angrily  urged  on 
by  Melrose,  escaped  as  quickly  as  he  could. 

"Insolent  boors!"  said  Melrose  as  men  and  flood  dis- 
appeared from  view.  "WTiat  did  we  want  with  them 
after  all?     It  was  only  a  device  for  bleeding  us." 

Mrs.  Mehose  awoke  from  her  trance  of  terror  with  a 
quavering  breath.  She  did  not  understand  what  had 
passed,  nor  a  word  of  what  the  labourers  had  said;  and  in 
her  behef  over  the  peril  escaped,  and  her  utter  fatigue, 
she  gave  the  child  to  Anastasia,  lay  back,  and  closed  her 
eyes.  A  sudden  and  blessed  sleep  fell  upon  her  for  a  few 
minutes;  from  which  she  was  roused  all  too  soon  by  grat- 
ing wheels  and  strange  voices. 

"Here  we  are,  Netta  —  look  alive!"  said  Melrose. 
"  Put  something  round  the  child,  Anastasia.  We  have  to 
walk  through  this  court.  No  getting  up  to  the  door. 
Find  some  umbrellas!" 

The  two  women  and  the  child  descended.  From  the 
open  house-door  figures  came  hurrying  down  a  flagged 
path,  through  an  untidy  kitchen  garden,  to  the  gate  in  a 
low  outer  wall  in  front  of  which  the  carriage  had  drawn  up. 


18  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Netta  Melrose  grasped  the  nurse's  arm,  and  spoke  in 
wailing  Italian,  as  she  held  an  umbrella  over  the  child. 

"What  a  place,  Anastasia!  —  what  a  place!  It  looks 
like  a  prison!     I  shall  die  here  —  I  know  I  shall!" 

Her  terrified  gaze  swept  over  the  old  red  sandstone 
house  rising  dark  and  grim  against  the  storm,  and  over  the 
tangled  thickets  of  garden  dank  with  rain. 

But  the  next  moment  she  was  seized  by  the  strong- 
hands  of  Mrs.  Dixon  and  Thyrza,  who  half  led,  half  car- 
ried, her  into  the  hall  of  the  Tower,  while  Dixon  and  young 
Tyson  did  the  same  for  the  nurse  and  baby. 

"A  very  interesting  old  place,  built  by  some  man  with 
a  real  fine  taste!  As  far  as  I  can  see,  it  will  hold  my 
collections  very  well." 

The  new  owner  of  Threlfall  Tower  was  standing  in  the 
drawing-room  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  alternately  looking 
about  him  with  an  eager  curiosity,  and  rubbing  his  hands 
in  what  appeared  to  be  satisfaction.  The  agent  surveyed 
him. 

Edmund  Melrose  at  that  moment  —  some  thirty  years 
ago  —  was  a  tall  and  remarkably  handsome  man  of  fifty, 
with  fine  aquiline  features  deeply  grooved  and  cut,  a 
delicate  nostril,  and  a  domed  forehead  over  which  fell 
thick  locks  of  black  hair.  He  looked  what  he  was  —  a 
man  of  wealth  and  family,  spoilt  by  long  years  of  wander- 
ing and  irresponsible  living,  during  which  an  inherited 
eccentricity  and  impatience  of  restraint  had  developed 
into  traits  and  manners  which  seemed  as  natural  to  him- 
self as  they  were  monstrous  in  the  sight  of  others.  He  had 
so  far  treated  the  agent  with  the  scantest  civility  during 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  19 

their  progress  through  the  house;  and  Tyson's  northern 
blood  had  boiled  more  than  once. 

But  the  inspection  of  the  house  had  apparently  put  its 
owner  in  a  good  temper,  and  he  seemed  to  be  now  more 
genially  inclined.  He  lit  a  cigarette  and  offered  Tyson 
one.  Upstairs  the  child  could  be  heard  wailing.  Its 
mother  and  nurse  were  no  doubt  ministering  to  it.  Mrs. 
Melrose,  so  far  as  Tyson  had  observed  her  arrival,  had  cast 
hasty  and  shivering  looks  round  the  comfortlessness  of 
the  hall  and  drawing-room;  had  demanded  loudly  that 
some  of  the  cases  encumbering  the  hall  and  passages 
should  be  removed  or  unpacked  at  once,  and  had  then 
bade  Mrs.  Dixon  take  her  and  the  child  to  their  rooms, 
declaring  that  she  was  nearly  dead  and  would  sup  upstairs 
and  go  to  bed.  She  seemed  to  Tyson  to  be  a  rather  pretty 
woman,  very  small  and  dark,  with  a  peevish,  excitable 
manner;  and  it  was  evident  that  her  husband  paid  her 
little  or  no  attention. 

"I  can't  altogether  admire  your  taste  in  carpets,  Ty- 
son," said  Melrose,  presently,  with  a  patronizing  smile, 
his  eyes  fastening  on  the  monstrosity  in  front  of  him. 

The  young  man  flushed. 

"Your  cheque,  sir,  was  not  a  big  one,  and  I  had  to 
make  it  go  a  long  way.  It  was  no  good  trying  the  expen- 
sive shops." 

"Oh,  well!  —  I  daresay  Mrs.  Melrose  can  put  up  with 
it.  And  what  about  that  sofa?  "  The  speaker  tried  it  — 
"Hm  —  not  exactly  Sybaritic  —  but  very  fair,  very  fair! 
Mrs.  Melrose  will  get  used  to  it." 

"Mrs.  Melrose,  sir,  I  fear,  will  find  this  place  a  bit 
lonesome,  and  out  of  the  way." 


20  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Well,  it  is  not  exactly  Piccadilly,"  laughed  Melrose. 
"But  a  woman  that  has  her  child  is  provided  for.  How 
can  she  be  dull?  I  ask  you  "  —  he  repeated  in  a  louder 
and  rather  hectoring  voice — "how  can  she  possibly  be 
dull.?" 

Tyson  murmured  something  inaudible,  adding  to  it  — 
"And  you,  sir?     Are  you  a  sportsman?" 

Melrose  threw  up  his  hands  contemptuously.  "The 
usual  British  question!  What  barbarians  we  are!  It 
may  no  doubt  seem  to  you  extraordinary  —  but  I  really 
never  want  to  kill  anything  —  except  sometimes,  perhaps, 

—  a  dealer.  My  amusements"—  he  pointed  to  two  large 
cases  at  the  end  of  the  room  — "are  pursued  indoors." 

"You  will  arrange  your  collections?' 

"  Perhaps,  yes  —  perhaps,  no.  When  I  want  something 
to  do,  I  may  begin  unpacking.  But  I  shall  be  in  no  hurry. 
Any  way  it  would  take  me  months." 

"Is  it  mostly  furniture  you  have  sent  home,  sir?" 

"Oh,  Lord,  no!  Clocks,  watches,  ironwork,  china, 
stuffs,  brasses  —  something  of  everything.     A  few  pictures 

—  no  great  shakes  —  as  yet.  But  some  day  I  may  begin 
to  buy  them  in  earnest.     Meanwhile,  Tyson  —  economy!" 

—  he  lifted  a  monitory  finger.  "All  my  income  is  re- 
quired —  let  me  inform  you  at  once  —  for  what  is  my 
hobby  —  my  passion  —  my  mania,  if  you  like  —  the  col- 
lecting of  works  of  art.  I  have  gradually  reduced  my 
personal  expenditures  to  a  minimum,  and  it  must  be  the 
same  with  this  estate.  No  useless  outlay  of  any  kind. 
Every  sixpence  will  be  important  to  me." 

"Some  of  the  cottages  are  in  a  very  bad  state,  Mr. 
Melrose." 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  21 

"Paradises,  I'll  be  bound,  compared  to  some  of  the 
places  I  have  been  livmg  among,  in  Italy.  Don't  en- 
courage people  to  complain;  that's  the  great  point.  En- 
courage them,  my  dear  sir,  to  make  the  best  of  things  — 
to  take  life  cheerfully.'" 

Certain  cottages  on  the  estate  presented  themselves  to 
the  agent's  mind.  He  lifted  his  eyebrows  imperceptibly, 
and  let  the  subject  drop,  inquiring  instead  whether  his 
employer  meant  to  reside  at  the  Tower  during  the  whole 
or  the  greater  part  of  the  year. 

Melrose  smiled.  "  I  shall  always  spend  the  winter  here 
—  arranging  —  cataloguing  —  writing."  Again  the  cigar- 
ette, held  in  very  long,  thin  fingers,  described  a  wide 
semicircle  in  the  dim  light,  as  though  to  indicate  the 
largeness  of  the  speaker's  thoughts.  "But  in  March  or 
April,  I  take  flight  from  here  —  I  return  to  the  chase. 
To  use  a  hunting  metaphor,  in  the  summer  I  kill  —  and 
store.  In  the  winter  I  consume  —  ruminate  —  chew  the 
cud.     Do  you  follow  my  metaphor?" 

"Not  precisely,"  said  Tyson,  looking  at  him  with  a 
quiet  antagonism.  "I  suppose  you  mean  you  buy  things 
and  send  them  home?" 

Melrose  nodded.  "Every  dealer  in  Europe  knows  me 
by  now  —  and  expects  me.  They  put  aside  their  best 
things  for  me.  And  I  prefer  to  hunt  in  summer  —  even 
in  the  hot  countries.  Heat  has  no  terror,  for  me;  and 
there  are  fewer  of  your  damned  English  and  American 
tourists  about." 

"I  see."  Tyson  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said:  "And 
I  suppose,  sir,  Mrs.  Melrose  goes  with  you?" 

"Not  at  all!     You  cannot  go  dragging  babies  about 


22  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Europe  any  more  than  is  absolutely  necessary.  Mrs. 
Melrose  will  make  her  home  here,  and  will  no  doubt  be- 
come very  much  attached  to  this  charming  old  house. 
By  the  way,  what  neighbours  are  there.'*" 

"Practically  none,  sir." 

"But  there  is  a  church  —  and  I  suppose  a  parson?" 

"Not  resident.  The  clergyman  from  Gimmers  Wick 
comes  over  alternate  Sundays." 

"H'm.  Then  I  don't  see  why  I  was  asked  to  contribute 
to  church  repairs.  What's  the  good  of  keeping  the  place 
up  at  all?" 

"The  people  here,  sir,  set  great  store  both  by  their 
church  and  their  services.  They  have  been  hoping,  now 
that  you  and  Mrs.  Melrose  have  come  to  live  here,  that 
you  might  perhaps  be  willing  to  pay  some  suitable  man  to 
take  the  full  duty." 

Melrose  laughed  aloud. 

"I?  Good  Heavens!  I  pay  a  parson  to  read  me  the 
English  Church  services !  Well,  I  don't  wish  to  inflict  my 
religious  opinions  upon  any  one,  Tyson;  but  I  may  as  well 
tell  you  that  they  don't  run  at  all  in  the  direction  of  par- 
sons. And  Mrs.  Mehose  —  why  I  told  you  she  was  a 
Catholic  —  a  Roman  Catholic.  What  does  she  want  with 
a  church?  But  a  parson's  wife  might  have  been  useful. 
By  the  way,  I  thought  I  saw  a  nice-looking  girl  when  we 
arrived,  who  has  since  disappeared." 

"That  was  Thyrza  Smart,  sir  —  the  daughter  of  Smart, 
the  farmer." 

"Excellent!  Mrs.  Mehose  shall  make  friends  with  her." 

"And  of  course,  sir,  both  Pengarth  and  Keswick  are 
within  a  drive." 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  23 

"Oh,  that's  no  good,"  said  Melrose,  easily.  "We  shall 
have  no  carriage," 

The  agent  stared.  "No  carriage?  I  am  afraid  in  that 
case  you  will  find  it  very  difficult  getting  about.  There 
are  no  flys  anywhere  near  that  you  can  hire." 

"What  do  we  want  with  them?  "  Melrose  lit  another 
cigarette.  "  I  may  have  a  horse  —  possibly.  And  of 
course  there's  the  light  cart  I  told  you  to  get.  We  can't 
trust  these  things" —  he  pointed  to  the  packages  in  the 
room  —  "to  irresponsible  people." 

"The  cart,  sir,  has  been  constantly  at  work.  But  — 
it  won't  exactly  suit  Mrs.  Melrose."  Tyson  smiled  dis- 
creetly. 

"Oh!  leave  that  to  me  —  leave  that  to  me!"  said  Mel- 
rose with  an  answering  good  humour.  "  Stable  and  car- 
riage expenses  are  the  deuce.  There  never  was  a  coach- 
man yet  that  didn't  rob  his  employer.  Well,  thank  you; 
I'm  glad  to  have  had  this  talk  with  you,  and  now,  I  go 
to  bed.     Beastly  cold,  I  must  say,  this  climate  of  yours!" 

And  with  a  very  evident  shiver  the  speaker  buttoned 
the  heavy  fur  coat  he  had  never  yet  taken  off  more  closely 
round  him. 

"What  about  that  man  from  Carlisle  —  and  the  fur- 
nace?" he  inquired  sharply. 

"He  comes  to-morrow,  sir.  I  could  not  get  him  here 
earlier.     I  fear  it  will  be  an  expensive  job." 

"No  matter.  With  my  work,  I  cannot  risk  incessant 
attacks  of  rheumatism.  The  thing  must  be  done,  and 
done  well.     Good-night  to  you,  Tyson." 

Mr.  Melrose  waved  a  dismissing  hand.  "We  shall  re- 
sume our  discussion  to-morrow." 


24  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

The  agent  departed.  Melrose,  left  solitary,  remained 
standing  a  while  before  the  fire,  examining  attentively  the 
architecture  and  decorations  of  the  room,  so  far  as  the 
miserable  light  revealed  them.  Italian,  no  doubt,  the 
stucco  work  of  the  ceiling,  with  its  embossed  nymphs  and 
cupids,  its  classical  medallions.  Not  of  the  finest  kind  or 
period,  but  very  charming  —  quite  decorative.  The 
house  had  been  built  on  the  site  of  an  ancient  border 
fortess,  toward  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  by 
the  chief  of  a  great  family,  from  whose  latest  representa- 
tive, his  mother's  first  cousin,  Edmund  Melrose  had  now 
inherited  it.  Nothing  could  be  more  curious  than  its 
subsequent  history.  For  it  was  no  sooner  finished,  in  a 
pure  Georgian  style,  and  lavishly  incrusted  in  all  its 
principal  rooms  with  graceful  decoration,  than  the  man 
who  built  it  died.  His  descendants,  who  had  plenty  of 
houses  in  more  southern  and  populous  regions,  turned  their 
backs  upon  the  Tower,  refused  to  live  in  it,  and,  failing  to 
find  a  tenant  of  the  gentry  class,  let  part  of  it  to  the  farmer, 
and  put  in  a  gardener  as  caretaker.  Yet  a  certain  small 
sum  had  always  been  allowed  for  keeping  it  in  repair, 
and  it  was  only  within  the  last  few  years  that  dilapidation 
had  made  head. 

Melrose  took  up  the  lamp,  and  carried  it  once  more 
through  the  ground-floor  of  the  Tower.  Save  for  the  dy- 
ing fires,  and  the  sputtering  lamp,  everything  was  dark 
and  still  in  the  spacious  house.  The  storm  was  dying 
down  in  fitful  gusts  that  seemed  at  intervals  to  invade 
the  shadowy  spaces  of  the  corridor,  driving  before  them 
the  wisps  of  straw  and  paper  that  had  been  left  here  and 
there  by  the  unpacking  of  the  great  writing-table.     There 


THE  IVMTING  OF  LYDIA  25 

could  be  no  ghosts  in  the  house,  for  nothing  but  a  fraction 
of  it  had  ever  sheltered  life;  yet  from  its  architectural 
beauty  there  breathed  a  kind  of  dumb,  human  protest 
against  the  disorderly  ill-treatment  to  which  it  had  been 
subjected. 

In  spite  of  his  excitement  and  pre-occupation,  Melrose 
felt  it,  and  presently  he  turned  abruptly,  and  went  up- 
stairs, still  carrying  the  lamp;  through  the  broad  upper 
passage  answering  to  the  corridor  below,  where  doors  in 
deep  recesses,  each  with  its  classical  architrave,  and  its 
carved  lintels,  opened  from  either  side.  The  farthest 
door  on  the  right  he  had  been  shown  as  that  of  his  wife's 
room;  he  opened  one  nearer,  and  let  himself  into  his  dress- 
ing-room, where  Anastasia  had  taken  care  to  light  the 
fire,  which  no  north  country-woman  would  have  thought 
of  lighting  for  a  mere  man. 

Putting  the  lamp  down  in  the  dressing-room,  he  pushed 
open  his  wife's  door,  and  looked  in.  She  was  apparently 
asleep,  and  the  child  beside  her.  The  room  struck  cold, 
and,  by  a  candle  in  a  basin,  he  saw  that  it  was  littered  from 
end  to  end  with  the  contents  of  two  or  three  trunks  that 
were  standing  open.  The  furniture  was  no  less  scanty 
and  poor  than  in  the  sitting-rooms,  and  the  high  panelled 
walls  closing  in  upon  the  bed  gave  a  dungeonlike  aspect 
to  the  room. 

A  momentary  pity  for  his  wife,  brought  to  this  harsh 
Cumbrian  spot,  from  the  flowers  and  sun,  the  Bacchic 
laughter  and  colour  of  a  Tuscan  vintage,  shot  through 
Melrose.  But  his  will  silenced  it.  "She  will  get  used 
to  it,"  he  said  to  himself  again,  with  dry  determination. 
Then  he  turned  on  his  heel.     The  untidiness  of  his  wife's 


26  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

room,  her  lack  of  method  and  charm,  and  the  memory 
of  her  peevishness  on  the  journey  disgusted  him.  There 
was  a  bed  in  his  dressing-room;  and  he  was  soon  soundly 
asleep  there. 

But  his  wife  was  not  asleep,  and  she  had  been  well 
aware  of  his  presence  on  her  threshold.  While  he  stood 
there,  she  had  held  her  breath,  "willing"  him  to  go  away 
again;  possessed  by  a  silent  passion  of  rage  and  repul- 
sion. When  he  closed  the  door  behind  him,  she  lay 
wide  awake,  trembling  at  all  the  night  sounds  in  the  house, 
lost  in  a  thousand  terrors  and  wild  regrets. 

Suddenly,  with  a  crash  the  casement  window  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room  burst  open  under  an  onset  of 
wind,  Netta  only  just  stifled  the  scream  on  her  lips.  She 
sat  up,  her  teeth  chattering.  It  was  awful;  but  she  must 
get  up  and  shut  it.  Shivering,  she  crept  out  of  bed,  threw 
a  shawl  round  her,  and  made  one  flight  across  the  floor, 
possessed  with  a  mad  alarm  lest  the  candle,  which  was 
flickering  in  the  draught,  should  go  out,  and  leave  her  in 
darkness. 

But  now  that  the  window  was  open  she  saw,  as  she 
approached,  that  the  night  was  not  dark.  There  was  a 
strong  moonlight  outside,  and  when  she  reached  the 
window  she  drew  in  her  breath.  For  there,  close  upon 
her,  as  it  seemed,  like  one  of  her  own  Apennines  risen  and 
stalking  through  the  night,  towered  a  great  mountain, 
cloud-wreathed,  and  gashed  with  vast  ravines.  The  moon 
was  shining  on  it  between  two  chasing  clouds,  and  the 
light  and  shade  of  the  great  spectacle,  its  illumined  slopes, 
and  impenetrable  abysses,  were  at  once  magnificent  and 
terrible. 


THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA  27 

Netta  shut  the  window  with  groping,  desperate  hands, 
and  rushed  back  to  bed.  Never  had  she  felt  so  desolate, 
so  cut  off  from  all  that  once  made  her  poor  little  life  worth 
living.  Yet,  though  she  cried  for  a  few  minutes  in  sheer 
self-pity,  it  was  not  long  before  she  too  was  asleep. 


II 

THE  day  after  the  Melroses'  arrival  at  the  Tower 
was  once  .more  a  day  of  rain  —  not  now  the 
tempestuous  storm  rain  which  had  lashed  the  mill 
stream  to  fury,  and  blustered  round  the  house  as  they 
stepped  into  it,  but  one  of  those  steady,  gray,  and  feature- 
less downpours  that  Westmoreland  and  Cumbria  know  so 
well.  The  nearer  mountains  which  were  wholly  blotted 
out,  and  of  the  far  Helvellyn  range  and  the  Derwentwater 
hills  not  a  trace  emerged.  All  colour  had  gone  from  the 
grass  and  the  autumn  trees;  a  few  sheep  and  a  solitary 
pony  in  the  fields  near  the  house  stood  forlorn  and  patient 
under  the  deluge;  heaven  and  earth  met  in  one  fusion  of 
rain  just  beyond  the  neglected  garden  that  filled  the  front 
court;  while  on  three  sides  of  the  house,  and  penetrating 
through  every  nook  and  corner  of  it,  there  rose,  from 
depths  far  below,  the  roar  of  the  stream  which  circled 
the  sandstone  rock  whereon  the  Tower  was  built. 

Mrs.  Melrose  came  down  late.  She  descended  the 
stairs  slowly,  rubbing  her  cold  hands  together,  and  looking 
forlornly  about  her.  She  wore  a  dress  of  some  straw- 
coloured  stuff,  too  thin  for  the  climate  of  a  Cumbria 
autumn,  and  round  her  singularly  small  and  fleshless  neck, 
a  wisp  of  black  velvet.  The  top  of  the  head  was  rather 
flat,  and  the  heavy  dark  hair,  projecting  stiffly  on  either 
side  of  the  face,  emphasized  at  once  the  sharpness  of  the 

28 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  29 

little  bony  chin,  the  general  sallowness  of  complexion,  and 
the  remarkable  size  and  blackness  of  the  eyes.  There  was 
something  snakelike  about  the  flat  head,  and  the  thin 
triangular  face;  an  effect  which  certainly  belied  the  little 
lady,  for  there  was  nothing  malicious  or  sinister  in  her 
personality. 

She  had  not  yet  set  eyes  on  her  husband,  who  had 
risen  early,  and  could  now  be  heard  giving  directions  to 
some  one  in  the  library  to  her  right  —  a  carpenter  appar- 
ently, since  there  was  hammering  going  on.  She  supposed 
she  must  find  out  something  about  the  kitchen  and  the 
servants.  Anastasia  had  brought  up  her  breakfast  that 
morning,  with  a  flushed  face,  muttering  complaint  against 
the  woman  downstairs.  A  terror  struck  through  her.  If 
Anastasia  should  desert  her  —  should  give  notice ! 

Timidly  she  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  big  kitchen, 
and  prepared  to  play  the  mistress.  Mrs.  Dixon  was 
standing  at  the  kitchen  table  with  a  pastry-board  before 
her,  making  a  meat  pie.  She  greeted  her  new  mistress 
civilly,  though  guardedly,  and  went  on  with  what  she  was 
doing. 

"Are  you  going  to  cook  for  us?"  asked  Mrs.  Melrose, 
helplessly. 

"That's  what  I  unnerstood  fro'  Muster  Tyson,  ma'am." 

"Then  I  came  to  speak  to  you  about  dinner." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,  but  Muster  Melrose  gave  me  the 
orders  a  good  while  sen.  There  was  a  cart  goin'  into 
Pengarth." 

Pengarth  was  the  nearest  country  town,  some  eight' 
miles  away. 

Mrs.  Melrose  coloured. 


30  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"I  must  tell  you  what  the  baby  requires,"  she  said, 
drawing  herself  up. 

Mrs.  Dixon  looked  at  the  speaker  impassively,  over  her 
spectacles. 

Mrs.  Melrose  hurriedly  named  a  patent  food  —  some 
special  biscuits  —  bananas. 

"Yo'  can  have  the  milk  yo'  want  fro'  t'  farm,"  said 
Mrs.  Dixon  slowly,  in  reply;  "  but  there's  nowt  of  aw  them 
things  i'  t'  house  as  I  knows  on." 

"Then  we  must  send  for  them." 

Mrs.  Dixon  shook  her  head. 

"There  won't  be  anoother  cart  goin'  in  till  t'  day 
after  to-morrow." 

"I  can't  have  the  baby  neglected!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Melrose,  with  sudden  shrillness,  looking  angrily  at  the 
rugged  face  and  figure  before  her. 

"Mebbe  yo'd  go  an  talk  to  t'  master?"  suggested  Mrs. 
Dixon,  not  without,  as  it  seemed  to  Netta,  a  touch  of 
slyness  in  eyes  and  voice.  Of  course  they  all  knew  by 
now  that  she  was  a  cipher  —  that  she  was  not  to  count. 
Edmund  had  been  giving  all  the  orders  —  in  his  miserly 
cheese-paring  way.  No  comforts! — no  conveniences! 
—  not  even  bare  necessaries,  for  herself  and  the  child. 
Yet  she  knew  very  well  that  her  husband  was  a  rich 
man. 

She  turned  and  went  in  search  of  him,  making  her  way 
with  difiiculty  through  the  piles  of  boxes.  What  could  be 
in  them  all?  Edmund  must  have  been  buying  for  years. 
Every  now  and  then  as  she  stooped  to  look  at  the  labels 
pasted  upon  them,  she  caught  names  well  known  to  her. 
Orbatelli,  Via  dei  Bardi  13,  Firenze;  Bianchi,  Via  Mazzini 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  31 

12,  Lucca;  Fratelli  Masai,  Via  Manzoni,  Pisa.     And  every- 
where the  recurrent  word  —  Antichita. 

How  she  hated  the  word ! —  how  she  hated  the  associa- 
tions linked  with  it,  and  with  the  names  on  the  boxes. 
They  were  bound  up  with  a  score  of  humbling  memories, 
the  memories  of  her  shabby,  struggling  youth.  She 
thought  of  her  father  —  the  needy  English  artist,  Robert 
Smeath,  with  just  a  streak,  and  no  more  than  a  streak, 
of  talent,  who  had  become  rapidly  "Italianate"  in  the 
Elizabethan  sense  —  had  dropped,  that  is,  the  English 
virtues,  without  ever  acquiring  the  Italian.  He  had 
married  her  mother,  a  Florentine  girl,  the  daughter  of  a 
small  impiegato  living  in  one  of  the  dismal  new  streets 
leading  out  of  Florence  on  the  east,  and  had  then  pursued 
a  shifting  course  between  the  two  worlds,  the  English  and 
the  Italian,  ordering  his  household  and  bringing  up  his 
children  in  Italian  fashion,  while  he  was  earning  his  keep- 
and  theirs,  not  at  all  by  the  showy  pictures  in  his  studio 
which  no  one  would  buy,  but  as  jackal  in  antichita,  to 
the  richer  English  and  American  tourists.  He  kept  a 
greedy  eye  on  the  artistic  possessions  still  remaining  in 
the  hands  of  impoverished  native  owners;  he  knew  the 
exact  moment  of  debt  and  dijBBculty  in  which  to  bring  a 
foreign  gold  to  bear;  he  was  an  adept  in  all  the  arts  by 
which  officials  are  bribed,  and  pictures  are  smuggled. 
And  sometimes  these  accomplishments  of  his  resulted  in 
large  accessions  of  cash,  so  that  all  the  family  lived  on 
the  fat  of  the  land,  bought  gorgeous  attire,  and  went  to 
Livorno,  or  Viareggio,  or  the  Adriatic  coast,  for  the 
summer.  And  sometimes  there  was  no  luck,  and  therefore 
no  money.     Owners  became  unkindly  patriotic  and  would 


32  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

not  sell.  Or  some  promising  buyer,  after  nibbling  for 
months,  went  off  finally  unhooked.  Then  the  apartment 
in  the  Via  Giugno  showed  the  stress  of  hard  times.  The 
girls  wore  their  old  clothes  to  rags;  the  mother  did  all  the 
work  of  the  house  in  a  bedgown  and  slippers;  and  the  door 
of  the  apartment  was  never  opened  more  than  a  few 
inches  to  any  applicant,  lest  creditors  should  get  in. 

And  the  golden  intervals  got  fewer,  and  the  poverty 
more  persistent,  as  the  years  went  on.  Till  at  last,  by 
the  providence  —  or  malice  —  of  the  gods,  a  rich  and 
apparently  prodigal  Englishman,  Edmund  Melrose,  hun- 
gry for  antichita  of  all  sorts,  arrived  on  the  scene.  Smeath 
became  rapidly  the  bond-slave  of  Melrose,  in  the  matter 
of  works  of  art.  The  two  made  endless  expeditions  to- 
gether to  small  provincial  towns,  to  remote  villas  in  the 
Apuan  or  Pisan  Alps,  to  palazzi  in  Verona,  or  Lucca,  or 
Siena.  Melrose  indeed  had  not  been  long  in  finding  out 
that  the  little  artist  was  both  a  poor  judge  and  a  bad 
agent.  Netta's  cheek  always  flamed  when  she  thought 
of  her  father's  boastings  and  blunderings,  and  of  the  way 
in  which  Edmund  had  come  to  treat  him.  And  now  the 
Smeath  family  were  just  as  poor  as  ever  again.  Her 
little  sisters  had  scarcely  a  dress  to  their  backs;  and  she 
was  certain  her  mother  was  both  half-starved  and  over- 
worked. Edmund  had  not  been  at  all  kind  to  them  since 
her  marriage  —  not  at  all ! 

How  had  he  come  to  marry  her?  She  was  well  aware 
that  it  was  an  extraordinary  proceeding  on  his  part.  He 
was  well  born  on  both  sides,  and,  by  common  report  among 
the  English  residents  in  Florence,  enormously  rich,  though 
his  miserly  habits  had  been  very  evident  even  in  the  first 


THE  MATING  OF  LYT>1\  33 

days  of  their  acquaintance.  He  might  no  doubt  have 
married  anybody  he  pleased;  if  he  would  only  have  taken 
the  trouble.  But  nothing  would  induce  him  to  take  any 
trouble  —  socially.  He  resented  the  demands  and  stand- 
ards of  his  equals;  turned  his  back  entirely  on  normal 
English  society  at  home  and  abroad;  and  preferred,  it 
seemed,  to  live  wdth  his  inferiors,  where  his  manners  might 
be  as  casual,  and  his  dress  as  careless  as  he  pleased.  The 
queer  evenings  and  the  queer  people  in  their  horrid  little 
flat  had  really  amused  him.  Then  he  had  been  ill,  and 
mama  had  nursed  him;  and  she,  Netta,  had  taken  him  a 
pot  of  carnations  while  he  was  still  laid  up;  and  so  on. 
She  had  been  really  pretty  in  those  days;  much  prettier 
than  she  had  ever  been  since  the  baby's  birth.  She 
had  been  attractive  too,  simply  because  she  was  young, 
healthy,  talkative,  and  forthcoming;  goaded  always  by  the 
hope  of  marriage,  and  money,  and  escape  from  home.  His 
wooing  had  been  of  the  most  despotical  and  patronizing 
kind;  not  the  kind  that  a  proud  girl  would  have  put  up 
with.  Still  there  had  been  wooing;  a  few  presents;  a 
frugal  cheque  for  the  trousseau;  and  a  honeymoon  fort- 
night at  Sorrento. 

Why  had  he  done  it? —  just  for  a  whim? —  or  to  spite 
his  English  family,  some  member  of  which  w'ould  occa- 
sionally turn  up  in  Florence  and  try  to  put  in  claims  upon 
him  —  claims  which  infuriated  him?  He  w^as  the  most 
wilful  and  incalculable  of  men ;  caring  nothing,  apparently, 
one  day  for  position  and  conventionality,  and  boasting 
extravagantly  of  his  family  and  ancestors  the  next. 

"He  was  rather  fond  of  me  —  for  a  little,"  she  thought 
to  herself  wearily,  as  she  stood  at  the  hall  window,  looking 


34  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

out  into  the  rain.  At  the  point  which  things  had  now 
reached  she  knew  very  well  that  she  meant  nothing  at  all 
to  him.  He  would  not  beat  her,  or  starve  her,  or  even, 
perhaps,  desert  her.  Such  behaviour  would  disturb  his 
existence  as  much  as  hers;  and  he  did  not  mean  to  be 
disturbed.  She  might  go  her  own  way  —  she  and  the 
child;  he  would  give  her  food  and  lodging  and  clothes, 
of  a  sort,  so  long  as  she  did  not  interfere  with  his  tastes, 
or  spend  his  money. 

Then,  suddenly,  while  she  stood  wrathfully  pondering, 
a  gust  of  anger  rose  —  childish  anger,  such  as  she  had 
shown  the  night  before,  when  she  had  tried  to  get  out  of 
the  carriage.  She  turned,  ran  down  the  corridor  to  the 
<ioor  which  she  understood  was  the  door  of  his  study  — 
and  entered  with  a  burst. 

"  Edmund !  —  I  want  to  speak  to  you ! " 

Mehose,  who  was  hanging,  frowning  and  absorbed,  over, 
a  carpenter  who  was  freeing  what  seemed  to  be  an  old 
clock  from  the  elaborate  swathings  of  paper  and  straw  in 
which  it  had  been  packed,  looked  up  with  annoyance. 

"Can't  you  see,  Netta,  that  I'm  very  busy  .J*" 

"I  can't  help  it! — it's  about  baby." 

With  a  muttered  "D — n!"  Melrose  came  toward  her. 

"What  on  earth  do  you  want?" 

Netta  looked  at  him  defiantly. 

"I  want  to  be  told  whenever  the  cart  goes  into  Pen- 
garth  —  there  were  lots  of  things  to  get  for  baby.  And 
I  must  have  something  here  that  I  can  drive  myself.  We 
can't  be  cut  off  from  everything," 

"  Give  your  orders  to  Mrs.  Dixon  then  about  the  cart," 
said  Melrose  angrily.     "^Vhat  has  it  to  do  with  me.''     As 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  S5 

for  a  carriage,  I  have  no  money  to  spend  on  any  nonsense 
of  the  kind.     We  can  do  perfectly  well  without  it." 

"I  only  want  a  little  pony-cart  —  you  could  get  it 
second-hand  for  ten  or  twelve  pounds  —  and  the  farmer 
has  got  a  pony." 

She  looked  at  him  —  sallow,  and  frowning. 

Melrose  pushed  her  into  the  passage  and  drew  the  door 
to,  behind  him,  so  that  the  carpenter  might  not  hear. 

"Ten  or  twelve  pounds!  Do  you  expect  I  get  money 
oflF  the  hedges?  Can't  you  be  content  here  like  a  reason- 
able woman,  without  getting  me  into  debt.?" 

Netta  laughed  and  tossed  her  head. 

"You  shouldn't  leave  your  business  letters  about!  " 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"There  was  a  cheque  among  your  papers  one  day  last 
week ! —  I  saw  it  before  you  could  hide  it  away.  It  was 
for  £3,000  —  a  dividend  from  something  —  a  coal  mine, 
I  think.     And  the  week  before  you  had  another " 

Her  husband's  eyes  shed  lightnings. 

"I'll  not  have  you  prying  into  my  affairs!"  he  said 
violently.     "All  I  have  is  wanted  —  and  more." 

"And  nothing  of  course  —  to  give  me  —  your  wife! — 
for  any  comforts  or  pleasures!  That  never  enters  into 
your  head! " 

Her  voice  came  thickly  already.  Her  chest  began  to 
heave. 

"There  now  —  crying  again!"  said  Melrose,  turning  on 
his  heel.  "Can't  you  sometimes  thank  your  stars  you're 
not  starving  in  Florence,  and  just  put  up  with  things  a 
little?" 

Netta  restrained  herself. 


36  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"So  I  would" —  she  said,  choking  — "if " 

"If  what " 

For  all  answer,  she  turned  and  hurried  away  toward 
the  hall.  Melrose  looked  after  her  with  what  appeared 
like  exasperation,  then  suddenly  recaptured  himseK, 
smoothed  his  brow,  and,  returning  to  the  study,  gave  him- 
self with  unruffled  zest  and  composure  to  the  task  of 
unpacking  the  Boule  clock. 

Netta  repaired  to  the  drawing-room,  and  threw  herself 
on  to  the  uncomfortable  sofa,  struggling  with  her  tears. 
For  about  a  fortnight  after  her  marriage  she  had  imagined 
herself  in  love  with  Melrose;  then  when  the  personal 
illusion  was  gone,  the  illusion  of  position  and  wealth 
persisted.  He  might  be  queer,  and  behave  queerly  in 
Italy.  But  when  they  returned  to  England  she  would 
find  herself  the  wife  of  a  rich  English  gentleman,  and  the 
gingerbread  would  once  more  be  gilt.  Alack !  a  few  weeks 
in  a  poor  London  Lodging  with  no  money  to  spend  on  the 
shops  which  tempted  her  woman's  cupidity  at  every  step; 
Edmund's  final  refusal,  first  laughing,  then  stubborn,  to 
present  her  to  "my  devilish  relations";  the  complete 
indifference  shown  to  her  wishes  as  to  the  furnishings  of 
the  Tower;  these  various  happenings  had  at  last  brought 
her  to  an  unwelcome  commerce  with  the  bare  truth.  She 
had  married  a  selfish  eccentric,  who  had  chosen  her  for  a 
caprice  and  was  now  tired  of  her.  She  had  not  a  farthing, 
nor  any  art  or  skill  by  which  to  earn  one.  Her  family 
was  as  penniless  as  herseK.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  submit.  But  her  temper  and  spirits  had  begun  steadily 
to  give  way. 

Firenze!     As   she   sat   in  her  cheerless  drawing-room, 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  37 

hating  its  ugly  shabbiness,  and  penetrated  with  the  damp 
chill  of  the  house,  there  swept  through  her  a  vision  of  the 
Piazza  del  Duomo,  as  she  had  last  seen  it  on  a  hot  Septem- 
ber evening.  A  blaze  of  hght  —  delicious  all-prevailing 
warmth  —  the  moist  bronzed  faces  of  the  men  —  the 
girls  with  the  look  of  physical  content  that  comes  in  hot 
countries  with  the  evening  —  the  sun  flooding  with  its 
last  gold,  now  the  new^  marbles  of  the  facciata,  now  the 
alabaster  and  bronze  of  the  Baptistery,  and  now  the  mov- 
ing crowds  —  the  flower-baskets  —  the  pigeons 

She  lifted  her  eyes  with  a  sobbing  breath,  and  saw  the 
gray  cloud-curtain  —  the  neglected  garden  —  the  solitary 
pony  in  the  field  —  wnth  the  shafts  of  rain  striking  across  ' 
it.  Despair  stirred  in  her  —  the  physical  nostalgia  of  the 
south.  A  happy  heart  might  have  silenced  the  craving 
nerves;  but  hers  was  far  from  happy. 

The  door  opened.  A  head  was  thrust  in  —  the  head 
of  a  fair-haired  girl.     There  was  a  pause. 

"WTiat  do  you  want.'*"  said  Mrs.  Melrose,  haughtily, 
determined  to  assert  herself. 

ThjTza  came  in  slowly.  She  held  a  bunch  of  dripping 
Michaelmas  daisies. 

"Shall  I  get  a  glass  for  them.-*  I  tho^\i:  mebbe  you'd 
like  'em  in  here." 

Netta  thanked  her  ungraciously.  She  remembered  hav- 
ing seen  the  girl  the  night  before,  and  Anastasia  had  men- 
tioned her  as  the  daughter  of  the  Contadino. 

Thyrza  put  the  flow-ers  in  water,  Netta  watching  her 
in  silence;  then  going  into  the  hall,  she  returned  with  a 
pair  of  white  lace  curtains. 

"Shall  I  put  'em  up.''     It  'ud  mebbe  be  more  cheerful." 


38  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Netta  looked  at  them  languidly. 

"Where  do  they  come  from?" 

"Mr.  Tyson  brought  'em  from  Pengarth.  He  thowt 
you  might  hke  'em  for  the  drawing-room," 

Mrs.  Melrose  nodded,  and  Thyrza  mounted  a  chair, 
and  proceeded  to  put  up  the  curtains,  turning  an  observant 
eye  now  and  then  on  the  thin-faced  lady  sitting  on  the 
sofa,  her  long  fingers  clasped  round  her  knees,  and  her 
eyes  —  so  large  and  staring  as  to  be  rather  ugly  than  beau- 
tiful in  Thyrza's  opinion  -  wandering  absently  round  the 
room. 

"It's  a  clashy  day,"  Thyrza  ventured  at  last, 

"It's  a  dreadful  day,"  said  Mrs.  Melrose  sharply. 
"Does  it  always  rain  hke  this.''" 

"Well,  it  do  rain,"  was  Thyrza's  cautious  reply.  "But 
there  that's  better  than  snowin' —  for  t'  shepherds." 

Mrs.  Melrose  found  the  girl's  voice  pleasant,  and  could 
not  deny  that  she  was  pretty,  in  her  rustic  way. 

"Has  your  father  many  sheep?" 

"Aye,  but  they're  all  gone  up  to  t'  fells  for  t'  winter. 
We  had  a  grand  time  here  in  September  —  at  t'  dippin'. 
Yo'd  never  ha'  thowt  there  was  so  mony  folk  about"  —  the 
girl  went  on,  civilly,  making  talk. 

"I  never  saw  a  single  house,  or  a  single  hght,  on  the 
drive  from  the  station  last  night,"  said  Mrs.  Melrose,  in 
her  fretful  voice.     "Wliere  are  all  the  people?" 

"Well,  there  ain't  many!"  laughed  Thyrza.  "It's  a 
lonesome  place  this  is.  But  when  it's  a  shearin',  or  a 
dippin',  yo'  unnerstand,  farmin'  folk'U  coom  a  long  way 
to  help  yan  anuther," 

"Are  they  all  farmers  about  here?" 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  39^ 

"Mostly.  Well,  there's  Duddon  Castle!"  Thyrza's 
voice,  a  little  muffled  by  the  tin-tacks  in  the  mouth,  came 
from  somewhere  near  the  top  of  a  tall  window  —  "Oh  — 
an'  I  forgot! " 

In  a  great  hurry  the  speaker  jumped  down  from  her 
perch,  and  to  Netta's  astonishment  ran  out  of  the  room. 

"What  is  she  about?"  thought  Mrs.  Melrose  irritably. 
But  the  question  was  hardly  framed  before  Thyrza  re- 
appeared, holding  out  her  hand,  in  which  lay  some  visit- 
ing-cards. 

"I  should  ha'  given  them  yo'  before." 

Mrs.  Melrose  took  them  with  surprise,  and  read  the 
name. 

"Countess  Tatham  —  who  is  she.?" 

"Why  it's  she  that  lives  at  Duddon  Castle."  Then  the 
girl  looked  uncertainly  at  her  companion — "Mr.  Tyson 
did  tell  me  she  was  a  relation  of  Mr.  Melrose." 

"A  relation.'^  I  don't  know  anything  about  her,"  said 
Netta  decidedly.     "Did  she  come  to  call  upon  me?" 

The  girl  nodded  — "She  come  over  —  it  was  last  Tues- 
day —  from  Duddon,  wi'  two  lovely  horses  —  my,  they 
were  beauties!     She  said  she'd  come  again." 

Netta  asked  questions.  Lady  Tatham,  it  seemed,  was 
the  great  lady  of  the  neighbourhood,  and  Duddon  Castle 
was  a  splendid  old  place,  that  all  the  visitors  went  to  see. 
And  there  were  her  cards.  Netta's  thoughts  began  to 
hurry  thither  and  thither,  and  possibilities  began  to  rise. 
A  relation  of  Edmund's.?  She  made  Thyrza  tell  her  all 
she  knew  about  Duddon  and  the  Tathams.  Visions  of 
being  received  there,  of  meeting  rich  and  aristocratic 
people,  of  taking  her  place  at  last  in  society,  the  place 


40  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

that  belonged  to  her  as  Edmund's  wife,  in  spite  of  his 
queer  miserly  ways,  ran  again  lightly  through  a  mind  that 
often  harboured  such  dreams  before  • —  in  vain.  Her 
brow  cleared.  She  made  Thyrza  leave  the  curtains,  and 
sit  down  to  gossip  with  her.  And  Thyrza,  though  perfectly 
conscious,  as  the  daughter  of  a  hard-working  race,  that  to 
sit  gossiping  at  midday  was  a  sinful  thing,  was  none  the 
less  willing  to  sin;  and  she  chattered  on  in  a  Westmore- 
land dialect  that  grew  steadily  broader  as  she  felt  herself 
more  at  ease,  till  Mrs.  Melrose  could  scarcely  follow  her. 

But  she  managed  to  seize  on  the  facts  that  concerned 
her.  Lady  Tatham,  it  seemed,  was  a  widow,  with  an 
only  boy,  a  lad  of  seven,  who  was  the  heir  to  Duddon 
Castle,  and  its  great  estates.  The  Castle  was  ten  miles 
from  the  Tower. 

"How  shall  I  ever  get  there.f*"  thought  Mrs.  Melrose, 
despairingly. 

As  to  other  neighbours,  they  seemed  to  consist  entirely 
of  an  old  bachelor  doctor,  about  three  miles  away,  and  the 
clergj'^man  of  Gimmers  Wick  and  his  wife.  She  was  sure 
to  come.  But  most  people  were  "glad  to  see  the  back 
on  her."  She  had  such  a  poor  spirit,  and  was  always 
complaining. 

In  the  midst  of  this  conversation,  the  door  of  the  room, 
which  was  ajar,  slowly  opened.  Thyrza  looked  round  and 
saw  in  the  aperture  a  tiny  white  figure.  It  was  the  Mel- 
rose baby,  standing  silent,  wide-eyed,  with  its  fingers  in 
its  mouth,  and  Anastasia  behind  it.  Anastasia,  whose 
look  was  still  thunderous,  explained  that  she  was  unpack- 
ing and  could  not  do  with  it.  The  child  toddled  in  to  its 
mother,  and  Thyrza  exclaimed  in  admiration : 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  41 

"Oh,  you  are  a  little  beauty!" 

And  she  caught  up  one  of  the  brass  curtam  rings  lying 
on  the  table,  and  tried  to  attract  the  baby  with  it.  But 
the  little  thing  took  not  the  smallest  notice  of  the  lure. 
She  went  straight  to  her  mother,  and,  leaning  against 
Netta's  knee,  she  turned  to  stare  at  Thyrza  with  an  in- 
tensity of  expression,  rare  in  a  child  so  young.  Thyrza, 
kneeling  on  the  floor,  stared  back  —  fascinated.  She 
thought  she  had  never  seen  anything  so  lovely.  The 
child  had  her  father's  features,  etherealized;  and  great  eyes, 
like  her  mother,  but  far  more  subtly  beautiful.  Her 
skin  was  pale,  but  of  such  a  texture  that  Thyrza's  roses- 
and-milk  looked  rough  and  common  beside  it.  Every  inch 
of  the  proud  httle  head  was  covered  with  close  short  curls 
leaving  the  white  neck  free,  and  the  hand  lifted  to  her 
mouth  was  of  a  waxen  delicacy. 

Netta  opened  a  picture-book  that  Anastasia  had  brought 
doviTi  with  her.  Felicia  pushed  it  away.  Netta  opened  it 
again.  Then  the  child,  snatching  it  from  her,  sat  down 
on  the  floor,  and,  before  Netta  could  prevent  her,  tore  one 
of  the  pages  across  with  a  quick,  vindictive  movement  — 
her  eyes  sparkling. 

"Naughty — !  naughty!"  said  Netta  in  a  scolding  voice. 

But  Thyrza  dropped  her  hand  hastily  into  a  gray  calico 
pocket  tied  round  her  waist,  and  again  held  out  something. 

"It  is  only  a  pear -drop,"  she  said  apologetically  to 
Netta.     "  It  won't  hurt  her. " 

Felicia  snatched  at  it  at  once,  and  sucked  it,  still  flushed 
with  passion.     Her  mother  smiled  faintly. 

"You  like  sweets.''"  she  said,  childishly,  to  her  com- 
panion; "give  me  one?" 


42  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Thyrza  eagerly  brought  out  a  paper  bag  from  her 
pocket  and  Netta  put  out  a  pair  of  thin  fingers.  She  and 
her  sisters  had  been  great  consumers  of  sweet  stuff  in  the 
small  dark  Florentine  shops.  The  shared  greediness  pro- 
moted friendship;  and  by  the  time  Mrs.  Dixon  put  in  a 
reproachful  face  with  a  loud — "Thyrza,  what  be  you  a 
doin'?" —  Mrs.  Melrose  knew  as  much  of  the  Tower,  the 
estate,  the  farm,  and  the  persons  connected  with  them, 
as  Thyrza's  chattering  tongue  could  tell  her  in  the  time. 

There  was  nothing,  however,  very  consohng  in  the 
information.  When  Thyrza  departed,  Mrs.  Melrose  was 
left  to  fret  and  sigh  much  as  before.  The  place  was  odious; 
she  could  never  endure  it.  But  yet  the  possible  advent 
of  "Countess  Tatham"  cast  a  faint  ray  on  the  future. 

A  few  days  later  Lady  Tatham  appeared.  Melrose 
had  been  particularly  perverse  and  uncommunicative  on 
the  subject.  "  Like  her  audacity ! " —  so  Netta  had  under- 
stood his  muttered  comment,  when  she  took  him  the  cards. 
He  admitted  that  the  lady  and  he  were  cousins  —  the 
children  of  first  cousins;  and  that  he  had  once  seen  a 
good  deal  of  her.  He  called  her  "an  audacious  woman"; 
but  Mrs.  Melrose  noticed  that  he  did  not  forbid  her  the 
house;  nay,  rather  that  he  listened  with  some  attention  to 
Thyrza's  report  that  the  lady  had  promised  to  call  again. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  call,  the  skies  were  clear  of 
rain,  though  not  of  cloud.  The  great  gashed  mountain 
to  the  north  which  Dixon  called  Saddleback,  while  a  little 
Cumbria  "guide,"  produced  by  Tyson,  called  it  Blen- 
cathra,  showed  sombrely  in  a  gray  light;  and  a  November 
wind  was  busy  stripping  what  leaves  still  remained  from 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  43 

the  woods  by  the  stream  and  in  the  hollows  of  the  moun- 
tain. Landscape  and  heavens  were  of  an  iron  bracingness 
and  bareness;  and  the  beauty  in  them  was  not  for  eyes 
like  Netta's.  She  had  wandered  out  forlornly  on  the 
dank  paths  descending  to  the  stream.  Edmund  as  usual 
was  interminably  busy  fitting  up  one  of  the  lower  rooms 
for  some  of  his  minor  bric-a-brac  —  ironwork,  small 
bronzes,  watches,  and  clocks.  Anastasia  and  the  baby 
were  out. 

Would  Anastasia  stay?  Already  she  looked  ill;  she 
complained  of  her  chest.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
come  with  the  Melroses  for  the  sake  of  her  mother  and 
sister  in  Rome,  who  were  so  miserably  poor.  Netta  felt 
that  she  —  the  mistress  —  had  some  security  against  los- 
ing her,  in  the  mere  length  and  cost  of  the  journey.  To 
go  home  now,  before  the  end  of  her  three  months,  would 
swallow  up  all  the  nurse  had  earned;  for  Edmund  would 
never  contribute  a  farthing.  Poor  Anastasia!  And  yet 
Netta  felt  angrily  toward  her  for  wishing  to  desert  them. 

"For  of  course  I  shall  take  her  home  —  in  March. 
We  shall  all  be  going  then,"  she  said  to  herself  with  an 
emphasis,  almost  a  passion,  which  yet  was  full  of  mis- 
giving. 

Suddenly,  just  as  she  had  returned  by  a  steep  path  to 
the  dilapidated  terrace  on  the  north  side  of  the  house  — 
a  sound  of  horses'  feet  and  wheels.  Evidently  a  carriage — 
a  caller.  Netta's  pulse  fluttered.  She  ran  into  the  house 
by  a  side  door,  and  up  to  her  room,  where  she  smoothed 
her  hair  anxiously,  and  lightlj^  powdered  her  face.  There 
was  no  time  to  change  her  dress,  but  she  took  out  a  feather 
boa  which  she  kept  for  great  occasions,  and  prepared  to 


44  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

descend  with  dignity.  On  the  stairs  she  met  Mrs.  Dixon, 
who  announced  "Lady  Tatham." 

"Find  Mr.  Melrose,  please." 

"Oh,  he's  there.  Ma'am,  awready." 

Netta  entered  the  drawing-room  to  see  her  husband 
pacing  up  and  down  before  a  strange  lady,  who  sat  in  one 
of  the  crimson  armchairs,  entirely  at  her  ease. 

"  So  this  is  your  wife,  Edmund,"  said  liady  Tatham,  as 
she  rose. 

"  It  is.  You'll  make  mock  of  her  no  doubt  —  as  you 
do  of  me." 

"Nonsense!  I  never  make  mock  of  anybody,"  said  a 
musical  voice,  rich  however  through  all  its  music  in  a 
rather  formidable  significance.  The  owner  of  it  turned 
toward  Netta. 

"I  hope,  Mrs.  Melrose,  that  you  will  like  Cumbria.?" 

Netta,  accustomed  to  Edmund's  "queerness,"  and 
determined  to  hold  her  own,  settled  herself  deliberately 
opposite  her  visitor,  and  was  soon  complaining  in  her  shrill 
voice  of  the  loneliness  of  the  place  and  the  damp  of  the 
climate.  Melrose  never  once  looked  at  his  wife.  He  was 
paler  than  usual,  with  an  eager  combative  aspect,  quite 
new  to  Netta.  He  seemed  for  once  to  be  unsure  of  his 
ground  —  both  to  expect  attack,  even  to  provoke  it  — 
and  to  shrink  from  it.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Lady 
Tatham,  and  followed  her  every  movement. 

Attention  was  certainly  that  lady's  due;  and  it  failed 
her  rarely.  She  had  beauty  —  great  beauty;  and  a  per- 
sonality that  refused  to  be  overlooked.  Her  dress  showed 
in  equal  measure  contempt  for  mere  fashion,  and  a  close 
study  of  effect.     The  lines  of  her  long  cloak  of  dull  blue 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  45 

cloth,  with  its  garnishings  of  sable,  matched  her  stately 
slenderness  well;  and  the  close-fitting  cap  over  the  coiled 
hair  conveyed  the  same  impression  of  something  perfectly 
contrived  and  wholly  successful.  Netta  thought  at  first 
that  she  was  "made  up,"  so  dazzling  was  the  white  and 
pink,  and  then  doubted.  The  beauty  of  the  face  reminded 
one,  perhaps,  of  the  beauty  of  a  boy  —  of  some  clear-eyed, 
long-chinned  athlete  —  masterfully  simple  —  a  careless 
conqueror. 

How  well  she  and  Edmund  seemed  to  know  each  other ! 
That  was  the  strange,  strange  thing  in  Netta's  eyes. 
Presently  she  sat  altogether  silent  while  they  talked. 
Melrose  still  walking  up  and  down  —  casting  quick  glances 
at  his  guest.  Lady  Tatham  gave  what  seemed  to  be 
family  news  —  how  "John"  had  been  sent  to  Teheran  — 
and  "George"  was  to  be  military  secretary  in  Dublin  — 
and  "Barbara"  to  the  astonishment  of  everybody  had  con- 
sented to  be  made  a  Woman  of  the  Bedchamber  — "poor 
Queen!" — how  Reginald  Pratt  had  been  handsomely 
turned  out  af  the  Middleswick  seat,  and  was  probably 
going  to  "rat"  to  an  Opposition  that  promised  more  than 
the  Government  —  that  Cecilia's  eldest  girl — "a  pretty 
little  minx" — had  been  already  presented,  and  was  likely 
to  prove  as  skilful  a  campaigner  for  a  husband  as  her 
mother  before  her  —  that  "Gerald"  had  lost  heavily  at 
Newmarket,  and  was  now  a  financial  nuisance,  borrowing 
from  everybody  in  the  family  —  and  so  on,  and  so  on. 

Melrose  received  these  various  items  of  information 
half  scornfully,  half  greedily,  it  might  have  been  guessed 
that  his  interest  in  the  teller  was  a  good  deal  keener  than 
his  interest  in  the  things  told.     The  conversation  revealed 


46  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

to  Netta  phases  in  her  husband's  existence  wholly  un- 
known to  her.  So  Edmund  had  been  in  Rome  —  for  two 
or  three  years  —  in  the  Embassy!  That  she  had  never 
known.  He  seemed  also  to  have  been  an  English  member 
of  Parliament  for  a  time.  In  any  case  he  had  lived, 
apparently  for  years,  like  other  men  of  his  kind  —  shoot- 
ing, racing,  \'isiting,  travelUng,  fighting,  elections.  She 
could  not  fit  the  facts  to  which  both  alluded  with  her  own 
recollections  of  the  misanthrope  who  had  first  made  ac- 
quaintance with  her  and  her  family  in  Florence  three 
years  before  this  date;  and  her  bewilderment  grew. 

As  for  the  others,  they  had  soon,  it  seemed,  completely 
forgotten  the  thin  sallow-faced  wife,  who  sat  with  her  back 
to  the  window,  restlessly  twisting  her  rings. 

Presently  Melrose  stopped  abruptly  —  in  front  of  Lady 
Tatham. 

"Where  is  Edith.?"  He  bent  forward  peremptorily, 
his  hand  on  the  table,  his  eyes  on  the  lady's  face. 

"At  the  Cape  \\'ith  her  husband." 

"Has  she  found  him  out  yet.''" 

"  There's  nothing  to  find  out.     He's  an  excellent  fellow." 

"A  stupid  prig,"  said  Melrose  passionately.  "Well, 
you  did  it! — You  did  it!" 

"Yes,  I  did  it."  Lady  Tatham  rose  quietly.  She  had 
paled,  and  after  a  minute's  hesitation  she  held  out  her 
hand  to  Melrose.  "Suppose,  Edmund,  we  bury  the 
hatchet.  I  should  hke  to  be  friends  with  you  and  your 
wife,  if  you  would  allow  it?" 

The  change  of  manner  was  striking.  Up  to  this  moment 
Lady  Tatham  had  been,  so  to  speak,  the  aggressor,  ven- 
turing  audaciously   on  ground   which   she   knew   to   be 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  47 

hostile  —  from   bravado? — or  for   some  hidden   reason? 

But  she  spoke  now  with  seriousness  —  even  with  a  touch 

of  womanly  kindness. 

Melrose  looked  at  her  furiously. 

"Lady  Tatham,  I  advise  you  to  leave  us  alone!" 

She  sighed,  met  his  eyes  a  moment,  gravely,  then  turned 

to  Netta. 

"Mrs.  Melrose,  your  husband  and  I  have  an  old  quarrel. 

He  wanted  to  marry  my  sister.     I  prevented  it.     She  is 

married  now  —  and  he  is  married.     Why  shouldn't  we 

make  friends?" 

"Quarrels  are  very  foolish!"  said  Netta,  sententiously, 

straightening  her  small  shoulders.     But  she  dared  not 

look  at  Melrose. 

"Well,  tell  him  so,"  laughed  Lady  Tatham.     "And 

come  and  see  me  at  Duddon  Castle." 

"Thank  you!     I  should  hke  to!"  cried  Netta. 

"My  wife  has  no  carriage.  Lady  Tatham." 

"Oh,  Edmund  —  we  might  hire  something,"  said  his 

wife  imploringly. 

"I  do  not  permit  it,"  he  said  resolutely.     "Good-bye, 

Lady  Tatham.     You  are  like  all  women  —  you  think  the 

cracked  vase  will  hold  water.     It  won't." 
"What  are  you  going  to  do  here,  Edmund?" 
"I  am  a  collector  —  and  works  of  art  amuse  me." 
"And  I  can  do  nothing  —  for  you  —  or  your  wife.'* " 
"Nothing.     I  am  sorry  if  you  feel  us  on  your  mind. 

Don't.     I  would  have  gone  farther  from  you,  if  I  could. 

But  seven  miles  —  are  seven  miles." 

Lady  Tatham  coloured.     She  shook  hands  with  Netta. 

Melrose  held  the  door  open  for  her.     She  swept  through 


48  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

the  hall,  and  hurried  into  her  carriage.  She  and  Melrose 
touched  hands  ceremoniously,  and  the  brougham  with  its 
fine  roan  horses  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

A  miserable  quarrel  followed  between  the  husband  and 
wife.  Netta,  dissolved  in  hysterical  weeping,  protested 
that  she  was  a  prisoner  and  an  exile,  that  Edmund  had 
brought  her  from  Italy  to  this  dreary  place  to  kill  her,  that 
she  couldn't  and  wouldn't  endure  it,  and  that  return  to 
Italy  she  must  and  would,  if  she  had  to  beg  her  way.  It 
was  cruel  to  shut  her  up  in  that  awful  house,  to  deny  her 
the  means  of  getting  about,  to  treat  people  who  wished  to 
be  kind  to  her  as  Edmund  had  treated  Lady  Tatham. 
She  was  not  a  mere  caterpillar  to  be  trodden  on.  She 
would  appeal  to  the  neighbours  —  she  would  go  home  to 
her  parents,  etcetera  —  etcetera. 

Melrose  at  first  tried  to  check  her  by  sarcasm  —  a  ban- 
ter that  stung  where  it  lit.  But  when  she  would  not  be 
checked,  when  she  followed  him  into  his  study,  wailing 
and  accusing,  a  whirlwind  of  rage  developed  in  the  man, 
and  he  denounced  her  with  a  violence  and  a  brutality 
which  presently  cowed  her.  She  ran  shivering  upstairs  to 
Anastasia  and  the  baby,  bolted  her  door,  and  never  re- 
appeared till,  twenty-four  hours  later,  she  crept  down 
white  and  silent,  to  find  a  certain  comfort  in  Thyrza's 
rough  ministrations.  Melrose  seemed  to  be,  perhaps,  a 
trifle  ashamed  of  his  behaviour;  and  they  patched  up  a 
peace  over  the  arrangements  for  the  heating  of  the  house 
on  which  for  once  he  had  the  grace  to  consult  her. 

The  winter  deepened,  and  Christmas  came.  On  the 
mountain-tops  the  snow  lay  deep,  and  when  Netta  —  who 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  49 

on  many  days  never  left  the  house  —  after  walking  a 
while  up  and  down  the  long  corridor  for  the  sake  of  ex- 
ercise, would  sink  languidly  on  the  seat  below  its  large 
western  window,  she  looked  out  upon  a  confusion  of  hills 
near  and  far,  drami  in  hard  white  upon  an  inky  sky.  To 
the  south  the  Helvellyn  range  stretched  in  bold-flung 
curves  and  bosses;  in  the  far  distance  rose  the  sharper 
peaks  of  Derwentwater;  while  close  at  hand  Blencathra 
vnih  its  ravines,  and  all  the  harsh  splendoiu-  of  its  white 
slopes  and  black  precipices,  alternately  fascinated  and 
repelled  the  little  Southerner,  starved  morally  and  physi- 
cally for  lack  of  sun. 

Even  for  Cumbria  it  was  a  chill  and  sunless  winter. 
No  bracing  frosts,  and  persistent  northwesterly  winds. 
Day  after  day  the  rain,  which  was  snow  on  the  heights, 
poured  down.  Derwentwater  and  Bassenthwaite  rose 
till  they  mingled  in  one  vast  lake.  The  streams  thun- 
dered from  the  fells;  every  road  was  a  water-course. 

Netta  lost  flesh  and  appetite.  She  was  a  discontented 
and  ailing  woman,  and  the  Dixons  could  not  but  notice 
her  fragile  state.  Mrs.  Dixon  thought  her  "nobbut  a 
silly  sort  of  body,"  but  would  sometimes  try  to  cook  what 
pleased  her,  or  let  Anastasia  use  the  kitchen  fire  for  "  gnoc- 
chi"  or  "risotto"  or  other  queer  messes;  which,  however, 
when  they  appeared,  were  generally  more  relished  by  the 
master  than  the  mistress. 

Dixon,  perceiving  no  signs  of  any  desire  on  Netta's 
part  to  attend  the  "papish"  chapel  ten  miles  away,  began 
to  plot  for  her  soul.  His  own  life  was  in  the  little  Method- 
ist chapel  to  which  he  walked  four  miles  every  Sunday, 
wet  or  fine.     In  the  summer  he  had  accompanied  the 


50  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

minister  and  one  or  two  class  leaders  in  a  drive  through 
the  hayfields,  shouting  to  the  haymakers  — "We're  going 
to  heaven ! —  won't  you  come  with  us ! " —  and  he  had  been 
known  to  spend  five  hours  at  a  stretch  on  his  knees 
wresthng  for  the  salvation  of  a  drunken  friend,  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Threlkeld.  But  Netta  baffled  him.  Sometimes 
he  would  come  home  from  chapel,  radiant,  and  would 
take  her  a  bunch  of  holly  for  the  table  by  way  of  getting 
into  conversation  with  her.  "It  was  fine  to-day.  Missis! 
There  was  three  found  peace.  And  the  congregation  was 
grand !  There  was  four  attorneys  —  two  of  'em  from  as  far 
as  Pengarth."  And  he  would  lend  her  tracts  —  and  even 
offer,  good  man,  to  borrow  a  "  shandrey  "  from  a  neighbour, 
and  drive  her  himself  to  the  chapel  service.  But  Netta 
only  smiled  or  yawned  at  him;  and  as  for  the  tracts,  she 
hid  them  under  the  few  sofa  cushions  the  house  possessed. 
Mr.  Tyson,  the  agent,  came  to  the  house  as  seldom 
as  he  could,  that  he  might  not  quarrel  with  his  employer 
before  it  was  to  his  own  interest  to  do  so.  Netta  dis- 
covered that  he  pitied  her;  and  once  or  twice,  drawing  on 
the  arts  of  flirtation,  with  which  the  Florentine  woman  is 
always  well  acquainted,  she  complained  to  him  of  her 
loneliness  and  her  husband's  unkindness.  But  his  north- 
country  caution  protected  him  from  any  sentimentalizing, 
however  innocent.  And  before  the  end  of  the  winter 
Netta  detested  him.  Meanwhile  she  and  Anastasia  lived 
for  one  hope  only.  From  many  indications  it  was  plain 
that  Melrose  was  going  south  in  March.  The  women  were 
determined  not  to  stay  behind  him.  But,  instinctively, 
they  never  raised  the  subject,  so  as  not  to  risk  a  struggle 
prematurely. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  51 

Meanwhile  Melrose  passed  a  winter  wholly  satisfactory 
to  himself.  The  partial  unpacking  of  his  collections  was 
an  endless  source  of  amusement  and  pleasure.  But  his 
curious  egotism  showed  itself  very  plainly  in  the  business. 
He  made  no  attempt  at  artistic  arrangement,  though  there 
was  some  classification.  As  fast  as  one  room  was  filled  — 
the  vacant  packing-cases  turned  on  their  sides,  serving  to 
exhibit  what  they  had  once  contained  —  he  would  begin 
upon  another.  And  woe  to  Mrs.  Dixon  or  Thyrza  if  they 
attempted  any  cleaning  in  one  of  his  rooms !  The  collec- 
tions were  for  himself  only,  and  for  the  few  dealers  or 
experts  to  whom  he  chose  to  show  them.  And  the  more 
hugger-mugger  they  were,  the  less  he  should  be  pestered 
to  let  people  in  to  see  them.  Occasionally  he  would  rush  up 
to  London  to  attend  what  he  called  a  "high  puff  sale" — 
or  to  an  auction  in  one  of  the  northern  towns,  and  as  he 
always  bought  largely,  purchases  kept  arriving,  and  the 
house  at  the  end  of  the  winter  was  in  a  scarcely  less  en- 
cumbered and  disorderly  condition  than  it  had  been  at 
the  beginning.  The  few  experts  from  the  Continent  or 
America,  whom  he  did  admit,  were  never  allowed  a  word 
of  criticism  of  the  collections.  If  they  ventured  to  differ 
from  Melrose  as  to  the  genuineness  or  the  age  of  a  bronze 
or  a  marble,  an  explosion  of  temper  and  a  speedy  dismissal 
awaited  them. 

One  great  stroke  of  luck  befel  him  in  February  which 
for  a  time  put  him  in  high  good-humour.  He  bought  at 
York  —  very  cheaply  —  a  small  bronze  Hermes,  which 
some  fifteenth-century  documents  in  his  own  possession, 
purchased  from  a  Florentine  family  the  year  before, 
enabled  him  to  identify  with  great  probability  as  the  work 


52  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

of  one  of  the  rarest  and  most  famous  of  the  Renaissance 
sculptors.  He  told  no  one  outside  the  house,  lest  he 
should  be  plagued  to  exhibit  it,  but  he  could  not  help 
boasting  of  it  to  Netta  and  Anastasia. 

"That's  what  comes  of  having  an  eye!  It's  worth  a 
thousand  guineas  of  it's  worth  a  penny.  And  those 
stupid  idiots  let  me  have  it  for  twenty-two  pounds!" 

"A  thousand  guineas ! "  Gradually  the  little  bronze  be- 
came to  Netta  the  symbol  of  all  that  money  could  have 
bought  for  her  —  and  all  she  was  denied;  Italy,  freedom, 
the  small  pleasures  she  understood,  and  the  salvation  of 
her  family,  now  in  the  direst  poverty.  There  were  mo- 
ments when  she  could  have  flung  it  passionately  out  of  the 
window  into  the  stream  a  hundred  feet  below.  But  she 
was  to  find  another  use  for  it. 

March  arrived.  And  one  day  Anastasia  came  to  tell 
her  mistress  that  she  had  received  orders  to  pack  Mr. 
Melrose's  portmanteaus  for  departure. 

Netta  brooded  all  day,  sitting  silent  and  pale  in  the 
window-seat,  with  some  embroidery  which  she  never 
touched  on  her  knee.  Outside,  not  a  sign  of  spring!  A 
bitter  north  wind  was  blowing  which  had  blanched  all 
colour  from  the  hills,  and  there  was  ice  on  the  edges  of  the 
streams.  Thyrza  was  away  in  Carlisle,  helping  an  aunt. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  house  but  Mrs.  Dixon,  and  a  deaf 
old  woman  from  one  of  the  labourer's  cottages  attached 
to  the  farm,  who  had  come  in  to  help  her.  The  poor 
babe  had  a  cold,  and  could  be  heard  fretfully  crying  and 
coughing  in  her  nursery. 

And  before  Netta's  inward  eye  there  stretched  the 
interminable  days  and  weeks  ahead,  no  less  than  the  in- 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  53 

terminable  weeks  and  months  she  had  already  lived 
through,  in  this  discomfort  of  body,  and  this  loneliness  of 
spirit. 

After  supper  she  walked  resolutely  into  her  husband's 
littered  study  and  demanded  that  she  and  Anastasia  and 
the  baby  should  go  with  him  to  the  Continent.  He,  she 
understood,  would  stop  in  Paris.  She  and  the  child  would 
push  on  to  Florence,  where  she  could  stay  the  summer 
with  her  people,  at  no  greater  cost  than  at  the  Tower. 
The  change  was  necessary  both  for  her  and  Felicia,  and 
go  she  would. 

Melrose  flatly  and  violently  refused.  What  did  she 
want  better  than  the  Tower?  She  had  as  much  service, 
and  as  much  luxury  as  her  antecedents  entitled  her  to; 
and  he  neither  could  nor  would  provide  her  with  anything 
more.  He  was  heavily  in  debt,  and  had  no  money  to 
spend  on  railway  tickets.  And  he  entirely  disapproved  of 
her  relations,  especially  of  her  father,  who  might  any  day 
find  himself  "run  in"  by  the  Italian  authorities  for  illicit 
smuggling  of  pictures  out  of  the  country.  He  declined 
to  allow  his  child  to  become  familiar  with  such  a  circle. 

Netta  listened  to  him  with  tight  lips,  her  pale  face 
strangely  flushed.  When  she  saw  that  her  appeal  was 
quite  fruitless  she  went  away,  and  she  and  Anastasia  sat 
up  whispering  together  far  into  the  night. 

Early  next  morning  Melrose  departed,  leaving  a  letter 
for  his  wife,  in  which  he  informed  her  that  he  had  left 
money  with  Mr.  Tyson  for  the  household  expenses,  and 
for  the  few  shillings  he  supposed  she  would  want  as  pocket 
money.  He  advised  her  to  be  out  a  great  deal,  and  as- 
sured her  that  the  Cumbria  summer,  when  it  came,  was 


54  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

delightful.  And  he  signed  himself  "your  affectionate 
husband,  Edmund  Melrose." 

Mrs.  Dixon  went  into  Pengarth  for  shopping  on  the  fly 
which  conveyed  Melrose  to  the  station,  and  was  to  come 
out  by  carrier.  After  their  departure  there  was  no  one 
left  in  the  house  but  the  deaf  old  woman.  Netta  and  her 
maid  preceeded  to  carry  out  a  plan  they  had  been  long 
maturing.  Anastasia  had  a  few  pounds  left  of  her  Christ- 
mas wages;  enough  to  carry  them  to  London;  and  for  the 
rest,  they  had  imagined  an  excellent  device. 

The  bronze  Hermes  had  been  left  by  Melrose  in  a  cup- 
board in  a  locked  room  on  the  first  floor.  When  Mrs. 
Dixon  came  back  that  night,  she  discovered  that  Mrs. 
Melrose,  with  her  child  and  maid  had  quitted  the  house. 
They  had  apparently  harnessed  the  cart  and  horse  them- 
selves, and  had  driven  into  Pengarth,  taking  a  labourer 
with  them  to  bring  the  cart  home.  They  had  carried  all 
their  personal  belongings  away  with  them;  and,  after  a 
while,  Mrs.  Dixon,  poking  about,  discovered  that  the  door 
of  one  of  the  locked  rooms  had  been  forced. 

She  also  noticed,  in  one  of  the  open  drawers  of  Mrs. 
Melrose's  bedroom,  a  photograph,  evidently  forgotten, 
lying  face  downward.  Examining  it,  she  saw  that  it  was 
a  picture  of  Netta,  with  the  baby,  taken  apparently  in 
Italy  during  the  preceding  summer.  The  Cumbrian 
woman,  shrewdly  observant  like  all  her  race,  was  struck 
by  the  tragic  differences  between  the  woman  of  the  picture 
and  the  little  blighted  creature  who  had  just  made  a  flit- 
ting from  the  Tower. 

She  showed  the  photograph  to  her  husband,  returned 
it  to  the  drawer,  and  thought  no  more  about  it. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  55 

News  was  of  course  sent  to  Mr.  Melrose  in  Paris,  and 
within  three  days  he  had  come  rushing  back  to  the  Tower, 
beside  himself  with  rage  and  grief,  not  at  all,  as  George 
Tyson  soon  assured  himself,  for  the  loss  of  his  wife  and 
child,  but  entirely  for  the  theft  of  the  priceless  Florentine 
bronze,  a  loss  which  he  had  suspected  on  the  first  receipt 
of  the  news  of  the  forced  door,  and  verified  at  once  on  his 
arrival. 

He  stood  positively  aghast  at  Netta's  perfidy  and  wick- 
edness, and  he  wrote  at  once  to  the  apartment  in  the  Via 
Giugno,  to  denounce  her  in  the  most  emphatic  terms. 
As  she  had  chosen  to  steal  one  of  his  most  precious  posses- 
sions, which  she  had  of  course  converted  into  money,  she 
had  no  further  claim  on  him  whatever,  and  he  broke  off 
all  relations  with  her.  Eighty  pounds  a  year  would  be 
paid  by  his  lawyers  to  a  Florentine  lawyer,  whom  he 
named,  for  his  daughter's  maintenance,  so  long  as  Netta 
left  him  unmolested.  But  he  desired  to  hear  and  see  no 
more  of  persons  who  reminded  him  of  the  most  tragical 
event  of  his  history  as  a  collector,  as  well  as  of  the  utter 
failure  of  his  married  hfe.  Henceforth  they  were  strangers 
to  each  other,  and  she  might  arrange  her  future  as  she 
pleased. 

The  letter  was  answered  by  Mrs.  Robert  Smeath  in  the 
third  person,  and  all  communications  ceased.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  the  Smeath  family  were  infinitely  relieved  by 
Melrose's  letter,  which  showed  that  he  did  not  intend  to 
take  any  police  steps  to  recover  the  bronze  or  its  value. 
Profiting  by  the  paternal  traditions,  Netta  had  managed 
the  sale  of  the  Hermes  in  London,  where,  owing  to  Mel- 
rose's miserly  hiding  of  it,  it  was  quite  unknown,  with 


m  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

considerable  skill.  It  had  realized  a  small  fortune,  and 
she  had  returned,  weary,  ill,  but  triumphant,  to  the  apart- 
in  the  Via  Giugno. 

Twelve  months  later,  Melrose  had  practically  forgotten 
that  he  had  ever  known  her.  He  returned  for  the  winter 
to  Threlfall,  and  entered  upon  a  course  of  Hfe  which  grad- 
ually made  him  the  talk  and  wonder  of  the  countryside. 
The  rooms  occupied  by  Netta  and  her  child  were  left  just 
as  he  had  found  them  when  he  returned  after  her  flight. 
He  had  turned  the  key  on  them  then,  and  nobody  had 
since  entered  them.  Tyson  wondered  whether  it  was 
sentiment,  or  temper;  and  gave  it  for  the  latter. 

The  years  passed  away.  Melrose's  hair  turned  from 
black  to  gray ;  Thyrza  married  a  tradesman  in  Carlisle  and 
presented  him  with  a  large  family;  the  Dixons,  as  cook  and 
manservant,  gradually  fitted  themselves  more  and  more 
closely  to  the  queer  conditions  of  life  in  the  Tower,  and 
grew  old  in  the  service  of  a  master  whose  eccentricities 
became  to  them,  in  process  of  time,  things  to  be  endured 
without  comment,  Uke  disagreeable  facts  of  climate.  In 
Dixon,  his  Methodist  books,  his  Bible,  and  his  weekly 
chapel  maintained  those  forces  of  his  character  which 
were  —  and  always  continued  to  be  —  independent  of 
Melrose;  and  Melrose  knew  his  own  interests  well  enough 
not  to  interfere  ^^th  an  obstinate  man's  religion.  While 
Tyson,  after  five  years,  passed  on  triumphantly  to  a  lucra- 
tive agency  in  the  Dukeries,  having  won  a  reputation  for 
tact  and  patience  in  the  impossible  service  of  a  mad  mas- 
ter, which  would  carry  him  through  life.  Melrose,  being 
Melrose,  found  it  hopeless  to  replace  him  satisfactorily; 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  57 

and,  as  he  continued  to  buy  land  greedily  year  after  year, 
the  neglected  condition  of  his  immense  estate  became  an 
ever-increasing  scandal  to  the  county. 

Meanwhile,  for  some  years  after  the  departure  of  Netta, 
Lady  Tatham  was  obliged  for  reason  of  health  to  spend 
the  winters  on  the  Riviera,  and  she  and  her  boy  were  only 
at  Duddon  for  the  summer  months.  Intercourse  between 
her  and  her  cousin  Edmund  Melrose  was  never  renewed, 
and  her  son  grew  up  in  practical  ignorance  of  the  relation- 
ship. When,  however,  the  lad  was  nearing  the  end  of  his 
Eton  school  days  Duddon  became  once  more  the  perma- 
nent home,  summer  and  winter,  of  mother  and  son,  and 
young  Lord  Tatham,  curly-haired,  good-humoured,  and 
good-hearted,  became  thenceforward  the  favourite  and 
princeling  of  the  countryside.  On  the  east  and  north,  the 
Duddon  estates  marched  with  Melrose's  property.  Oc- 
casions of  friction  constantly  arose,  but  the  determination 
on  each  side  to  have  no  more  communication  with  the 
other  than  was  absolutely  necessary  generally  composed 
any  nascent  dispute;  so  long  at  least  as  Lady  Tatham  and 
a  very  diplomatic  agent  were  in  charge. 

But  at  the  age  of  twenty-four,  Harry  Tatham  succeeded 
to  the  sole  management  of  his  estates,  and  his  mother 
soon  realized  that  her  son  was  not  likely  to  treat  their 
miserly  neighbour  with  the  same  patience  as  herself. 

And  with  the  changes  in  human  life,  went  changes  even 
more  subtle  and  enduring  in  the  Cumbria  county  itself. 
Those  were  times  of  crisis  for  English  agriculture.  Wheat- 
lands  went  back  to  pasture;  and  a  surplus  population,  that 
has  found  its  way  for  generations  to  the  factory  towns, 
began  now  to  turn  toward  the  great  Canadian  spaces 


58  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

beyond  the  western  sea.  Only  the  mountains  still  rose 
changeless  and  eternal,  at  least  to  human  sense;  "am- 
bitious for  the  hallowing"  of  moon  and  sun;  keeping  their 
old  secrets,  and  their  perpetual  youth. 

And  after  twenty  years  Threlfall  Tower  became  the 
scene  of  another  drama,  whereof  what  has  been  told  so 
far  is  but  the  prologue. 


m 

IT  was  a  May  evening,  and  Lydia  Penfold,  spinster, 
aged  twenty -four,  was  sketching  in  St.  John's 
Vale,  that  winding  valley  which,  diverging  from  the 
Ambleside-Keswick  road  in  an  easterly  direction,  di- 
vides the  northern  slopes  of  the  HelvelljTi  range  from  the 
splendid  mass  of  Blencathra. 

So  beautiful  was  the  evening,  so  ravishing  under  its 
sway  were  heaven  and  earth,  that  Lydia's  work  went  but 
slowly.  She  was  a  professional  artist,  to  whom  guineas 
were  just  as  welcome  as  to  other  people,  and  she  had  very 
industrious  and  methodical  views  of  her  business.  But 
she  was,  before  everything,  one  of  those  persons  who  thrill 
under  the  appeal  of  beauty  to  a  degree  that  often  threatens 
or  suspends  practical  energy.  Save  for  the  conscience  in 
her,  she  could  have  lived  from  day  to  day  just  for  the 
moments  of  delight,  the  changes  in  light  and  shade,  in 
colour  and  form,  that  this  beautiful  world  continually 
presents  to  senses  as  keen  as  hers.  Lydia's  conscience, 
however,  was  strong;  though  on  this  particular  evening 
it  did  little  or  nothing  to  check  the  sheer  sensuous  dream- 
ing that  had  crept  over  her. 

The  hand  that  held  her  palette  had  dropped  upon  her 
knee,  her  eyes  were  lifted  to  the  spectacle  before  her,  and 
her  lips,  slightly  parted,  breathed  in  pleasure. 

She  looked  on  a  pair  of  mountains  of  which  one,  torn 

59 


60  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

and  seamed  from  top  to  toe  as  though  some  vast  Fafnir 
of  the  prime  had  wreaked  his  dragon  rage  upon  it,  fronted 
her  sheer,  rimmed  with  gold  where  some  of  its  thrusting 
edges  still  caught  the  sunset,  but  otherwise  steeped  in 
purple  shades  already  prophesying  night;  while  the  other, 
separated  from  the  first  by  a  gap,  yet  grouping  with  it, 
ran  slanting  away  to  the  northwest,  offering  to  the  eyes 
only  a  series  of  lovely  foreshortened  planes,  rising  from  the 
valley,  one  behind  the  other,  sweeping  upward  and  back- 
ward to  the  central  peak  of  Skiddaw,  and  ablaze  with  light 
from  base  to  summit. 

The  evenings  in  the  north  are  long.  It  was  past  seven 
on  this  May  day;  yet  Lydia  knew  that  the  best  of  the  show 
was  still  to  come;  she  waited  for  the  last  act,  and  refused 
to  think  of  supper.  That  golden  fusion  of  all  the  upper  air; 
that  "intermingling  of  Heaven's  pomp,"  spread  on  the 
great  slopes  of  Skiddaw  —  red  and  bronze  and  purple, 
shot  through  each  other,  and  glorified  by  excess  of  light; 
that  sharpness  of  the  larch  green  on  the  lower  slopes;  that 
richness  of  the  river  fields;  that  shining  pageantry  of 
cloud,  rising  or  sinking  with  the  mountain  line :  pondering 
these  things,  absorbing  them,  she  looked  at  her  drawing 
from  time  to  time  in  a  smiling  despair;  the  happy  despair 
of  the  artist,  who  amid  the  failure  of  to-day  looks  forward 
with  passion  to  the  effort  of  to-morrow. 

Youth  and  natural  joy  possessed  her. 

What  scents  from  the  river-bank,  under  the  softly 
breathing  wind  which  had  sprung  up  with  the  sunset! 
The  girl  brought  her  eyes  down,  and  saw  a  bank  of  prim- 
roses, and  beyond,  in  the  little  copse  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  stream,    a  gleam  of  blue,  where  the  wild   hyacinth 


THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA  61 

spread  among  the  birches.  While  close  to  her,  at  her  very 
feet,  ran  the  stream,  with  its  slipping,  murmuring  water, 
its  stones  splashed  with  white,  purple,  and  orange,  its  still 
reaches  paved  with  evening  gold. 

"\\Tiat  a  mercy  I  wrote  that  letter!"  she  said  to  herself, 
with  a  sigh  of  content.  She  was  thinking  of  a  proposal 
that  had  come  to  her  a  few  days  before  this  date,  to  take  a 
post  as  drawing  mistress  in  a  Brighton  school.  The 
salary  was  tempting;  and,  at  the  moment,  money  was 
more  than  usually  scarce  in  the  family  purse.  Her 
mother's  eyes  had  looked  at  her  wistfully. 

Yet  she  had  refused;  with  a  laughing  bravado  that 
had  concealed  some  inward  qualms. 

Whereupon  the  gods  had  immediately  and  scandalously 
rewarded  her.  She  had  sold  four  of  her  drawings  at  a 
Liverpool  exhibition  for  twenty  pounds;  and  there  were 
lying  beside  her  on  the  grass  some  agreeable  press 
notices  just  arrived,  most  of  which  she  already  knew  by 
heart. 

Tw^enty  pounds!  That  would  pay  the  half  year's  rent. 
And  there  were  three  other  drawings  in  a  London  show 
that  might  very  well  sell  too.  WTiy  not  —  now  the 
others  had  sold.'*  Meanwhile  she  —  thank  the  Lord! 
—  had  saved  herself,  as  a  fish  from  the  hook.  She  was 
still  free;  free  to  draw,  free  to  dream.  She  had  not 
bartered  her  mountains  for  a  salary.  Instead  of  crocodile 
walks,  two  and  two,  with  a  score  of  stupid  schoolgirls, 
here  she  was,  still  roaming  the  fells,  the  same  happy 
vagabond  as  before.  She  hugged  her  liloerty.  And  at 
the  same  time  she  promised  herself  that  her  mother 
should  have  a  new  shawl  and  a  new  cap  for  WTiitsuntide. 


eg  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Those  at  present  in  use  came  near  in  Lydia's  opinion 
to  being  a  family  disgrace. 

The  last  act  of  the  great  spectacle  rushed  on;  and 
again  the  artist  held  her  breath  enthralled.  The  gold  on 
Skiddaw  was  passing  into  rose;  and  over  the  greenish 
blue  of  the  lower  sky,  webs  of  crimson  cirrhus  spun  them- 
selves. The  stream  ran  fire;  and  far  away  the  windows 
of  a  white  farm  blazed.  Lydia  seized  a  spare  sketching- 
block  lying  on  the  grass,  and  began  to  note  down  a  few 
"  passages  "  in  the  sky  before  her. 

Suddenly  a  gust  came  straying  down  the  valley.  It 
blew  the  press-cuttings  which  had  dropped  from  her  lap 
toward  the  stream.  One  of  them  fell  in,  the  others,  long 
flapping  things,  hung  caught  in  a  tuft  of  grass.  Lydia 
sprang  up,  with  an  exclamation  of  annoyance,  and  ^'^ent  to 
the  rescue.  Dear,  dear !  —  the  longest  and  best  notice, 
which  spoke  of  her  work  as  "agreeable  and  scholarly, 
showing,  at  times,  more  than  a  touch  of  high  talent"  — 
was  quietly  floating  away.  She  must  get  it  back.  Her 
mother  had  not  yet  read  it  —  not  yet  purred  over  it. 
And  it  was  most  desirable  she  should  read  it,  so  as  to  get 
rid  thereby  of  any  lingering  doubt  about  the  horrid  school 
and  its  horrid  proposal. 

But  alack!  the  slip  of  newspaper  was  already  out  of 
reach,  speeded  by  a  tiny  eddy  toward  a  miniature  rapid 
in  the  middle  of  the  beck.  Lydia,  chnging  with  one  hand 
to  a  stump  of  willow,  caught  up  a  stick  lying  on  the  bank 
with  the  other,  and,  hanging  over  the  stream,  tried  to  head 
back  the  truant.  AU  that  happened  was  that  her  foot 
slipping  on  a  pebble  went  flop  into  the  shallow  water, 
and  part  of  her  dress  followed  it. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  63 

It  was  not  open  to  Lydia  to  swear,  and  she  had  no 
time  for  the  usual  feminine  exclamations  before  she  heard 
a  voice  behind  her. 

"Allow  me  —  can  I  be  of  any  use?" 

She  turned  in  astonishment,  extricating  her  wet  foot, 
and  clambered  back  on  to  the  bank.  A  young  man  stood 
there,  civilly  deferential.  His  bicycle  lay  on  the  grass 
at  the  edge  of  the  road,  which  was  only  a  few  steps  away. 

"I  saw  you  slip  in,  and  thought  perhaps  I  might  help. 
You  were  trying  to  reach  something,  weren't  you.'*" 

"It  doesn't  matter,  thank  you,"  said  Lydia,  whose 
cheeks  had  gone  pink. 

The  young  man  looked  at  her,  and  became  still  more 
civil. 

"\Miat  was  it?  That  piece  of  paper?  Oh,  I'll  get 
it  in  a  moment." 

And  splashing  from  stone  to  stone  in  the  river-bed,  he 
had  soon  reached  a  point  where,  with  the  aid  of  Lydia's 
stick,  the  bedraggled  cutting  was  soon  fished  out  and 
returned  to  its  owner.     Lydia  thanked  him. 

"But  you've  wet  both  your  feet!"  She  looked  at 
them,  with  concern.  "Won't  it  be  very  uncomfortable, 
bicycling?  " 

"I  haven't  far  to  go.  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  was  just 
looking  out  for  somebody  to  ask  —  about  this  road  —  and 
I  couldn't  see  a  soul,  till  just  as  I  came  out  of  the  httle 
wood  there"  —  he  pointed  —  "I  saw  you  —  shpping  in." 

They  both  laughed.  Lydia  returned  to  her  camp 
stool,  and  began  to  put  up  her  sketching  things. 

"^\Tiat  is  it  you  want  to  know?" 

"Is  this  the  road  for  ^\Tiitebeck?" 


64  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Yes,  certainly.  You  come  to  a  bridge  and  the  village 
is  on  the  other  side." 

"Thank  you.  I  don't  know  these  parts.  But  what 
an  awfully  jolly  valley!"  He  waved  a  hand  toward  it. 
"And  what  do  you  think  I  saw  about  a  mile  higher  up.^" 
He  had  picked  up  his  bicycle  from  the  grass,  and  stood 
leaning  easily  upon  it.  She  could  not  but  observe  that 
he  was  tall  and  shm  and  handsome.  A  tourist,  no  doubt; 
she  could  not  place  him  as  an  inhabitant. 

"I  know!"  she  said  smiling.  "You  saw  the  otter 
hounds.  They  passed  me  an  hour  ago.  Have  they 
caught  him.?" 

"Who.'  the  otter.'  Lord,  no!  He  got  right  away 
from  them  —  up  a  tributary  stream." 

"Good!"  said  Lydia,  as  she  shut  her  painting- 
box. 

The  young  man  hesitated.  He  had  clearly  no  right  to 
linger  any  longer,  but,  as  the  g:irl  before  him  seemed  to  him 
one  of  the  most  delicious  creatures  he  had  ever  seen,  he 
did  linger. 

"I  wonder  if  I  might  ask  you  another  question?  Can 
you  tell  me  whether  that  fine  old  house  over  there  is 
Duddon  Castle.'" 

"Duddon  Castle!"  Lydia  lifted  her  eyebrows.  "Dud- 
don  Castle  is  seven  miles  away.  That  place  is  called 
Threlf all  Tower.     Were  you  going  to  Duddon.' " 

"No.  But"  —  he  hesitated  —  "I  know  young  Tatham 
a  little.  I  should  like  to  have  seen  his  house.  But, 
that's  a  fine  old  place,  isn't  it.?* "  He  looked  with  curiosity 
at  the  pile  of  building  rising  beyond  a  silver  streak  of 
river,  amid  the  fresh  of  the  May  woods. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  65 

"Well  —  yes  —  in  some  ways,"  said  Lydia,  dubiously. 
"Don't  you  know  who  lives  there?" 

"Not  the  least.  I  am  a  complete  stranger  here.  I 
say,  do  let  me  do  that  up  for  you.'^"  And,  letting  his 
bicycle  fall,  the  young  man  seized  the  easel  which  had  still 
to  be  taken  to  pieces  and  put  into  its  case. 

Lydia  shot  a  wavering  look  at  him.  He  ought  certainly 
to  have  departed  by  now,  and  she  ought  to  be  snubbing 
him.  But  the  expression  on  his  sunburnt  face  .as  he 
knelt  on  the  grass,  unscrewing  her  easel,  seemed  so  little 
to  call  for  snubbing  that  instead  she  gave  him  further 
information;  interspersed  with  directions  to  him  as  to 
what  to  do  and  what  not  to  do  with  her  gear. 

"It  belongs  to  a  Mr.  Melrose.  Did  you  never  hear  of 
him.?" 

"Never.     Why  should  1?" 

"Not  from  the  Tathams.^" 

"No.  You  see  I  only  knew  Tatham  at  college  —  in  my 
last  year.  He  was  a  good  deal  junior  to  me.  And  I  have 
never  stayed  with  them  at  Duddon  —  though  they  kindly 
asked  me  —  years  ago." 

The  girl  beside  him  took  not  the  smallest  notice  of  his 
information.  She  was  busy  packing  up  brushes  and 
paints,  and  her  next  remark  showed  him  subtly  that  she 
did  not  mean  to  treat  him  as  an  acquaintance  of  the 
Tathams,  whom  she  probably  knew,  but  was  determined 
to  keep  him  to  his  role  of  stranger  and  tourist. 

"You  had  better  look  at  Threlfall  as  you  pass.  It  has 
a  splendid  situation." 

"I  will.  But  why  ought  I  to  have  heard  of  the  gentle- 
man.'    I  forget  his  name." 


66  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Mr,  Melrose?     Oh,  well  —  he's  a  legend  about  here.  ' 
We  all  talk  about  him." 

"What's  wrong  with  him?  Is  he  a  nuisance?  —  or  a 
lunatic?" 

"It  depends  what  you  have  to  do  with  him.  About 
here  he  goes  by  the  name  of  the  'Ogre.'  " 

"How,  does  he  eat  people  up?"  asked  the  stranger, 
smiling. 

The  girl  hesitated. 

"Ask  one  of  his  tenants!"  she  said  at  last. 

"Oh,  he's  a  landlord,  and  a  bad  one?" 

She  nodded,  a  sudden  sharpness  in  her  gray  eyes. 

"But  that's  not  the  common  reason  for  the  name. 
It's  because  he  shuts  himself  up  —  in  a  house  full  of 
treasures.     He's  a  great  collector." 

"Of  works  of  art?  You  —  don't  need  to  be  mad  to  do 
that !  It  seems  to  be  one  of  the  things  that  pays  best  now- 
adays —  with  all  these  Americans  about.  It's  a  way  of  in- 
vesting your  money.    Doesn't  he  show  them  to  anybody?  " 

"Nobody  is  allowed  to  go  near  him,  or  his  house.  He 
has  built  a  high  wall  round  his  park,  and  dogs  are  let  loose 
at  night  that  tear  you  to  pieces." 

"Nice  man!  If  it  weren't  for  the  dogs,  I  should  brave 
him.     In  a  small  way,  I'm  a  collector  myself." 

He  smiled,  and  Lydia  understood  that  the  personal 
reference  was  thrown  out  as  a  feeler,  in  case  she  might  be 
willing  to  push  the  conversation  further.  But  she  did  not 
respond,  although  as  he  spoke  she  happened  to  notice  that 
he  wore  a  remarkable  ring  on  his  left  hand,  which  seemed 
to  illustrate  his  remark.  An  engraved  gem?  —  Greek? 
Her  eyes  were  quick  for  such  things. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  67 

However,  she  was  seized  with  shyness,  and  as  she  had 
now  finished  the  packing  of  her  brushes  and  paints,  and  the 
young  man  had  elaborately  fastened  all  the  straps  of  the 
portable  easel  and  its  case,  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do 
but  to  stoop  unwillingly  for  his  soft  hat  which  was  lying 
on  the  grass.     Then  an  idea  struck  him. 

"I  say,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  all  these  things.^" 

"Carry  them  home."  She  smiled.  "I  am  not  a 
cripple." 

"Mightn't  I  —  mightn't  I  carry  them  for  you?" 

"Thank  you.  My  way  hes  in  quite  another  direction. 
Good-night." 

She  held  out  a  shapely  hand.  He  took  it,  hfted  his 
hat,  and  departed. 

As  soon  as  he  was  safely  past  a  jutting  corner  of  the  road 
Lydia,  instead  of  going  home,  lazily  sat  down  again  on  a 
rock  to  think  about  what  had  happened.  She  was  per- 
fectly aware  that  —  considering  the  whole  interview  had 
only  taken  ten  minutes  —  she  had  made  an  impression 
upon  the  young  man.  And  as  young  men  of  such  distin- 
guished appearance  were  not  common  in  the  Whitebeck 
neighbourhood,  the  recollection  of  all  those  little  signs  in 
look  and  manner  which  had  borne  witness  to  the  stranger's 
discreet  admiration  of  her  was  not  at  all  disagreeable. 

He  was  not  a  native  —  that  she  was  sure  of.  She 
guessed  him  a  Londoner.  "Awfully  good  clothes!  — 
London  clothes.  About  thirty,  I  should  think.?  I  won- 
der what  he  does.  He  can't  be  rich,  or  he  wouldn't  be 
bicycling.  He  did  up  those  straps  as  though  he  were  used 
to  them;  but  he  can't  be  an  artist,  or  he'd  have  said  some- 
thing.    It  was  a  face  with  lots  of  power  in  it.     Not  very 


68  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

good-tempered,  I  should  say?  But  there's  something  about 
him  —  yes,  distinctly,  something!  I  liked  his  thin  cheeks, 
and  his  dark  curls.  His  head,  too,  was  uncommonly  well 
set  on.  I'm  sure  that  there's  a  good  deal  to  him,  as  the 
Americans  say;  he's  not  stuffed  with  sawdust.  I  can 
imagine  —  just  imagine  —  being  in  love  with  him." 

She  laughed  to  herself. 

Then  a  sudden  thought  occurred  to  her,  which  reddened 
her  cheeks.  Suppose  when  the  young  man  came  to  think 
over  it,  he  beUeved  that  she  had  let  the  papers  fall  into  the 
river  —  deliberately  —  on  purpose  —  just  to  attract  his 
attention?  At  the  very  precise  moment  that  he  comes 
upon  the  scene,  she  shps  into  the  water.  Of  course !  — 
an  arranged  affair! 

She  sat  on,  meditating  in  some  discomfort. 

"It  is  no  use  deceiving  ourselves,"  she  thought.  "We're 
not  in  the  good  old  Tennysonian  days.  There's  precious 
little  chivalry  now!  Men  don't  idealize  women  as  they 
used.  They're  grown  far  more  suspicious  —  and  harder. 
Perhaps  because  women  have  grown  so  critical  of  them! 
Anyway  something's  gone  —  what  is  it?  Poetry?  Illu- 
sion? And  yet!  —  why  is  it  that  men  still  put  us  off  our 
balance?  —  even  now  —  that  they  matter  so  much  less, 
now  that  we  Uve  our  own  lives,  and  can  do  without  them? 
I  shouldn't  be  sitting  here,  bothering  my  head,  if  it  had 
been  another  girl  who  had  come  to  help." 

Slowly  she  gathered  up  her  things  and  took  her  way 
home,  while  the  evening  of  blue  and  pearl  fell  around  her, 
while  the  glow  died  on  the  fells,  and  Venus  came  out  in  a 
sky  that  was  still  too  full  of  hght  to  let  any  lesser  stars 
appear. 


They  stopped  to  talk  while  he  rested  a  few  minutes 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  69 

She  crossed  the  stepping  stones,  and  in  a  river  field  on 
the  farther  side  she  came  across  an  old  shepherd,  carrying 
a  wounded  ewe  across  his  shoulders,  and  with  his  dog 
beside  him.  At  sight  of  him  she  paused  in  astonishment. 
He  was  an  old  friend  of  hers,  but  he  belonged  to  a  village  — 
the  village  of  Mainstairs  —  some  three  miles  away  in  the 
lowland  toward  Pengarth.  She  had  first  come  across 
him  when  sketching  among  some  distant  fells  where  he 
had  been  a  shepherd  for  more  than  forty  years. 

The  old  man's  russet  face,  sharp-lined  and  strong, 
lit  up  as  he  saw  her  approaching. 

"  Why  I  thowt  I  med  coom  across  yer ! "  he  said  smiling. 
And  he  explained  that  he  had  been  paying  a  visit  to  a 
married  daughter  under  Naddle  Fell,  and  had  volunteered 
to  carry  an  injured  sheep  down  to  a  valley  farm,  whence 
it  had  strayed  on  his  way  home. 

They  stopped  to  talk  while  he  rested  a  few  minutes, 
under  his  burden,  propped  against  a  rock.  Lydia  asked 
him  after  a  sick  grand-daughter.  Her  question  showed 
knowledge  —  no  perfunctory  kindness. 

He  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  her  grave,  soft  look,  as 
she  fell  silent  a  little,  beside  him,  said  more  than  words. 

"Anything  been  done  to  your  cottage?"  she  asked 
him  presently. 

"Noa  — nowt." 

"Nor  to  the  other  houses.'*" 

"Naethin'." 

Her  brows  frowned. 

"Horrible!"  she  said  under  her  breath.  But  they 
did  not  pursue  the  subject.  Instead  the  old  man  broke 
out  in  praise  of  the  "won'erful  'cute"  sheep  dog  beside 


70  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

him,  and  in  the  story  of  the  accident  which  had  sHghtly 
lamed  the  ewe  he  was  carrying.  Lydia's  vivacious 
listening,  her  laugh,  her  comments,  expressed  —  uncon- 
sciously —  with  just  a  touch  of  Cumbria  dialect,  showed 
them  natural  comrades.  Some  deeply  human  gift,  some 
spontaneity  in  the  girl,  answered  to  the  racy  simplicity 
of  the  old  man. 

"Tell  me  once  more" — she  said,  as  she  rose  from  her 
seat  upon  a  fallen  tree,  and  prepared  to  go  on  her  way  — 
"those  counting  words  you  told  me  last  week.  I  tried  to 
tell  them  to  my  mother  —  but  I  couldn't  remember  them 
all.     They  made  us  laugh  so." 

"Aye,  they're  the  owd  words,"  said  the  shepherd  com- 
placently. "We  doan't  use  'em  now.  But  my  feyther 
minds  how  his  feyther  used  alius  to  count  by  'em." 

And  he  began  the  catalogue  of  those  ancient  numerals 
by  which  the  northern  dalesman  of  a  hundred  years  ago 
were  still  accustomed  to  reckon  their  sheep,  words  that  go 
back  to  the  very  infancy  of  man. 

"  Yan  —  tyan  —  tethera  —  methera  —  pimp;  sethera  — 
lethera  —  ho  vera  —  do  vera  —  dick." 

Lydia's  face  dissolved  in  laughter  —  and  when  the  old 
man  delighting  in  her  amusement  Ment  on  to  the  com- 
pounds of  ten,  eleven,  twelve,  thirteen,  and  the  rest: 

"Yan-a-dick  —  tyan-a-dick  —  tethera-a-dick  —  me- 
thera-a-dick  —  bumfit." 

At  "bumfit"  (fifteen)  they  both  rocked  with  merri- 
ment, the  old  man  carried  away  by  the  infection  of 
hers. 

"Go  on,"  said  Lydia  —  the  tears  of  laughter  in  her  eyes 
—  "up  to  twenty,  and  then  hear  me  say  them." 


THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA  71 

"Yan-a-biimfit  —  tyan-a-bunifit  —  tethera-a-bumfit  — 
methera-a-bumfit  —  giggot"  (twenty). 

"Giggot"  set  them  both  off  again  —  and  then  Lydia  — 
stumbling,  laughing,  and  often  corrected,  said  her  lesson. 

By  the  time  she  was  fairly  perfect,  and  the  old  man  had 
straightened  himself  again  under  his  load  —  a  veritable 
"good  shepherd,"  glorified  by  the  evening  light  —  they 
parted  with  a  friendly  nod,  glad  to  have  met  and  sure  to 
meet  again. 

"I'll  come  and  see  Bessie  soon,"  she  said  gently,  as  she 
moved  on. 

"Aye.     Yo'll  be  varra  welcome." 

She  stepped  forward  briskly,  gained  the  high  road,  and 
presently  saw  in  front  of  her  a  small  white  house,  recently 
built,  and  already  embowered  in  a  blossoming  garden. 
Lilacs  sent  their  fragrance  to  greet  her;  rhododendrons 
glowed  through  the  twilight,  and  a  wild-cherry  laden  with 
bloom  reared  its  white  miracle  against  the  walls  of  the 
house. 

Lydia  stood  at  the  gate  devouring  the  tree  with  her 
eyes.  The  blossom  had  already  begun  to  drop.  "Two 
days  more" — she  said  to  herself,  sighing — "and  it'll  be 
gone  —  till  next  year.  And  it's  been  out  such  a  little, 
little  while!  I  seem  hardly  to  have  looked  at  it.  It's 
horrible  how  short-lived  all  the  beautiful  things  are." 

"Lydia!"     A  voice  called  from  an  open  window. 

"Yes,  mother." 

"You're  dreadfully  late,  Lydia!  Susan  and  I  have 
finished  supper  long  ago." 

Lydia  walked  into  the  house,  and  put  her  head  into 
the  drawing-room. 


72  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Sorry,  mother!  It  was  so  lovely,  I  couldn't  come  in. 
And  I  met  a  dear  old  shepherd  I  know.  Don't  bother 
about  me.     I'll  get  some  milk  and  cake." 

She  closed  the  door  again,  before  her  mother  could 
protest. 

"Girls  will  never  think  of  their  meals!"  said  Mrs. 
Penfold  to  herself  in  irritation.  "And  then  all  of  a  sudden 
they  get  nerves  —  or  consumption  —  or  something." 

As  she  spoke,  she  withdrew  from  the  window,  and  curled 
herself  up  on  a  sofa,  where  a  knitted  coverlet  lay,  ready  to 
draw  over  her  feet.  Mrs,  Penfold  was  a  shght,  pretty 
woman  of  fifty  with  invalidish  Sybaritic  ways,  and  a 
character  which  was  an  odd  mixture  of  humility  and 
conceit  —  diffidence  and  audacity.  She  was  quite  aware 
that  she  was  not  as  clever  as  her  daughters.  She  could 
not  write  poetry  like  Susan,  or  paint  like  Lydia.  But 
then,  in  her  own  opinion,  she  had  so  many  merits  they 
were  without;  merits  which  more  than  maintained  her 
self-respect,  and  enabled  her  to  hold  her  ground  with 
them.  For  instance:  by  the  time  she  was  four  and 
twenty,  Lydia's  age,  she  had  received  at  least  a  dozen 
proposals.  Lydia's  scalps,  so  far  as  her  mother  knew, 
were  only  two  —  fellow-students  at  South  Kensington, 
absurd  people,  not  to  be  counted.  Then,  pretty  as  Lydia 
was,  her  nose  could  not  be  compared  for  delicacy  with  her 
mother's.  "My  nose  was  always  famous" — Mrs.  Pen- 
fold  would  say  complacently  to  her  daughters  — "  it  was 
that  which  first  attracted  your  dear  father.  'It  was,'  he 
said  —  you  know  he  always  expressed  himself  so  remark- 
ably—  'such  a  sure  sign  of  "race."'  His  owni  people  — 
oh!     they  were  quite  nice  people  —  but  quite  middle- 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  73 

class."  Again,  her  hands  and  feet  were  smaller  and  more 
aristocratic  than  either  Lydia's  or  Susan's.  She  liked  to 
remind  herself  constantly  how  everybody  had  admired 
them  and  talked  about  them  when  she  was  a  girl. 

Drawing  her  work-box  toward  her,  while  she  waited  for 
Lydia's  return,  Mrs.  Penfold  fell  to  knitting,  while  the 
inner  chatter  of  the  mind  went  as  fast  as  her  needles  — 
concerned  chiefly  with  two  matters  of  absorbing  interest: 
Lydia's  twenty  pounds,  and  a  piece  of  news  about  Lydia, 
recently  learnt  from  the  rector's  wife. 

As  to  the  twenty  pounds,  it  was  the  greatest  blessing! 
Of  course  the  school  salary  would  have  been  a  certainty  — 
and  Lydia  had  hardly  considered  it  with  proper  serious- 
ness. But  there  —  all  was  well !  The  extra  twenty 
pounds  would  carry  them  on,  and  now  that  Lydia  had 
begun  to  earn,  thought  the  maternal  optimist,  she  would 
of  course  go  on  earning  —  at  higher  and  higher  prices  — 
and  the  family  income  of  some  three  hundred  a  year 
would  obtain  the  increment  it  so  desperately  needed. 
And  as  Mrs.  Penfold  looked  upon  a  girls'  school  as  some- 
thing not  far  removed  from  a  nunnery,  a  place  at  any  rate 
painfully  devoid  of  the  masculine  element;  and  as  her 
whole  mind  was  set  —  sometimes  romantically,  some- 
times financially  —  on  the  marriage  of  her  daughters,  she 
felt  that  both  she  and  Lydia  had  escaped  what  might 
have  been  an  unfortunate  necessity. 

Yes,  indeed !  —  what  a  providential  escape,  if 

Mrs.  Penfold  let  fall  her  knitting;  her  face  sparkled. 
Why  had  Lydia  never  communicated  the  fact,  the  thrilling 
fact  that  she  had  been  meeting  at  the  rectory  —  more 
than  once  apparently  —  not  merely  a  young  man,  but  the 


74  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

young  man  of  the  neighbourhood.  And  with  results  — 
favourable  results  —  quite  evident  to  the  Rector  and  the 
Rector's  wife,  if  Lydia  herself  chose  to  ignore  and  secrete 
them.     It  was  really  unkind.  .  .  . 

The  door  opened.  A  white  figure  slipped  into  the 
room  through  its  mingled  lights,  and  found  a  stool  beside 
Mrs.  Penfold. 

"Dear  —  are  you  all  right.?" 

Mrs.  Penfold  stroked  the  speaker's  head. 

"Well,  I  thought  I  was  going  to  have  a  headache  this 
morning,  darhng  —  but  I  didn't  —  it  went  away.  Lydia! 
the  Rector  and  Mrs.  Deacon  have  been  here.  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  you  have  been  meeting  Lord  Tatham 
at  the  rectory?" 

Lydia  laughed. 

"Didn't  I?     Well,  he's  quite  decent." 

"Mrs.  Deacon  says  he  admired  you.  She's  sure  he 
did!"  Mrs.  Penfold  stooped  eagerly  toward  her  daugh- 
ter, trying  to  see  her  face  in  the  twilight. 

"Mrs.  Deacon's  a  goose!  You  know  she  is,  mother, 
—  you  often  say  so.  I  met  him  first,  of  course,  at  the 
Hunt  Ball.  And  you  saw  him  there  too.  You  saw  me 
dancing  with  him." 

"But  that  was  only  once,"  said  Mrs.  Penfold,  can- 
didly. "I  didn't  think  anything  of  that.  When  I  was  a 
girl,  if  a  young  man  liked  me  at  a  dance,  we  went  on  till 
we  made  everybody  talk.  Or  else,  there  was  nothing  in 
it." 

"Well,  there  was  nothing  in  it,  dear  —  in  this  case.  And 
I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  give  me  to  Lord  Tatham  —  just 
yet!" 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  75 

Mrs.  Penfold  sighed. 

"Of  course  one  knows  that  that  kind  of  young  man  has 
his  marriage  made  for  him  —  just  hke  royalty.  But 
sometimes  —  they  break  out.  There  are  dukes  that 
have  married  plain  Misses  —  no  better  than  you,  Lydia  — 
and  not  American  either.  But  —  Lydia  —  you  did  like 
hi 


im 


"WTio.'*     Lord  Tatham?     Certainly." 

"I  expect  most  girls  do!  He's  the  great  parti  about 
here." 

"Mother,  really!"  cried  Lydia.  "He's  just  a  pleasant 
youth  —  not  at  all  clever.  And  oh,  how  badly  he  plays 
bridge!" 

"That  doesn't  matter.  Mrs.  Deacon  says  you  got  on 
with  him,  splendidly." 

"I  chaffed  him  a  good  deal.  He  really  plays  worse 
than  I  do  —  if  you  can  believe  it." 

"They  like  being  chaffed" — said  Mrs.  Penfold  pen- 
sively —  "if  a  girl  does  it  well." 

"I  don't  care,  darling,  whether  they  like  it  or  not.  It 
amuses  me,  and  so  I  do  it." 

"But  you  mustn't  let  them  think  they're  being  laughed 
at.  If  you  do  that,  Lydia,  you'll  be  an  old  maid.  Oh, 
Lydia!" —  the  speaker  sighed  like  a  furnace  —  "I  do  wish 
you  saw  more  young  men ! " 

"Well,  I  saw  another  one  —  much  handsomer  than 
Lord  Tatham  —  this  afternoon,"  laughed  Lydia. 

Mrs.  Penfold  eagerly  inquired.  The  story  was  told, 
and  Mrs.  Penfold,  as  easily  lured  by  a  new  subject  as  a 
child  by  a  new  doll,  fell  into  many  speculations  as  to  who 
the  youth  could  have  been,  and  where  he  was  going. 


78  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

She  did  not  intend  indeed  to  be  troubled  —  for  the 
present  —  with  such  matters  at  all. 

"Marrying  is  not  in  the  bill!"  She  declaimed  it  to  a 
lilac-bush,  standing  with  her  hands  behind  her,  and  face 
uplifted.  "I  have  no  money,  and  no  position  —  there- 
fore the  vast  majority  of  men  won't  want  to  marry  me. 
And  as  to  scheming  to  make  them  want  it  —  why !  — 
good  heavens !  —  when  there  are  such  amusing  things 
to  do  in  the  world!  " 

She  paced  the  garden  paths,  thinking  passionately, 
defiantly  of  her  art,  yet  indignant  with  herself  for  these 
vague  yearnings  and  languors  that  had  to  be  so  often  met 
and  put  down. 

"  Men !  —  men!  —  what  do  they  matter  to  me,  except 
for  talk  —  and  fun!  Yet  there  one  goes  thinking  about 
them  —  Uke  any  fool.  It's  sex  of  course  —  and  youth. 
I  can  no  more  escape  them  than  anybody  else.  But  I  can 
be  mistress  of  them.  I  wUl.  That's  where  this  genera- 
tion differs.  We  needn't  drift  —  we  see  clear.  Oh!  those 
clouds  —  that  blue!  —  those  stars!  Dear  world!  Isn't 
beauty  enough?" 

She  lifted  her  arms  above  her  head  in  a  wild  aspiration. 
And  all  in  a  moment  it  surprised  her  to  feel  her  eyes  wet 
with  tears. 

Meanwhile  the  young  man  who  had  rescued  her  press 
cuttings  had  fallen,  barely  an  hour  after  his  parting  from 
her,  upon  evil  fortunes. 

His  bicycle  had  carried  him  swiftly  down  the  valley 
toward  the  Whitebeck  bridge.  Just  above  the  bridge,  a 
steep  pitch  of  hill,  one  of  those  specimens  of  primitive 


THE  J^IATING  OF  LYDIA  79 

road-making  that  abound  in  Cumbria,  descended  rapidly 
into  a  dark  hollow,  wath  a  high  wall  on  one  side,  overhung 
by  trees,  and  on  the  other  a  bank,  broken  three  parts  of 
the  way  down  by  the  entrance  of  a  side  road.  At  the 
top  of  the  hill,  Faversham,  to  give  the  youth  his  name, 
stopped  to  look  at  the  wall,  which  was  remarkable  for 
height  and  strength.  The  thick  wood  on  his  right  hid  any 
building  there  might  be  on  the  farther  side  of  the  stream. 
But  clearly  this  was  the  Ogre's  wall  —  ogreish  indeed!  A 
man  might  well  keep  a  cupboard  full  of  Fatimas,  ahve  or 
dead,  on  the  other  side  of  it,  or  a  coiner's  press,  or  a  bank- 
note factory,  or  any  other  romantic  and  literary  villainy. 
Faversham  found  himself  speculating  with  amusement  on 
the  old  curmudgeon  behind  the  wall;  always  with  the 
vision,  drawn  by  recollection  on  the  leafy  background, 
of  a  girl's  charming  face  —  clear  pale  skin,  beautiful 
eyes,  more  blue  surely  than  gray  —  the  whitest  neck, 
with  coils  of  brown  hair  upon  it  —  the  mouth  with  its 
laughing  freedom  —  yet  reticent  —  no  mere  silly  sweet- 
ness ! 

Then  putting  on  his  brake,  he  began  to  coast  down  the 
hill,  which  opened  gently  only  to  turn  without  notice  into 
something  scandalously  precipitous.  The  bicycle  had 
been  hired  in  Keswick,  and  had  had  a  hard  season's  use. 
The  brake  gave  way  at  the  worst  moment  of  the  hill,  and 
Faversham,  unable  to  save  himself,  rushed  to  perdition. 
And  by  way  of  doubling  his  misfortune,  as  in  the  course  of 
his  mad  descent  he  reached  the  side  road  on  the  left,  there 
came  the  loud  clatter  of  a  cart,  and  a  young  horse  emerged 
almost  at  a  gallop,  with  a  man  tugging  vainly  at  its 
rein. 


80  THE  :SIATIXG  OF  LYDIA 

Toi  minutes  later  a  group  of  men  stood  consulting  by 
the  side  of  the  road  over  Faversham's  prostrate  fcflm.  He 
was  unconscioas;  his  head  and  face  were  covered  with 
liiood,  and  his  left  ankle  was  apparently  broken-  A  small 
motor  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  and  an  angry 
be  was  gcang  on  between  an  cJd  man  in  mire-stained 
HKOgkiiig-cIothes.  and  the  young  doctor  from  Pengarth  to 
whom  the  motor  belonged. 

"I  say.  Mr.  Dixon-  that  you've  got  to  take  this  man 
into  Mr.  Melrose's  house  and  look  after  him,  till  he  is  fit 
to  be  moved  farther,  or  you  11  be  guilty  of  his  death,  and  I 
siitaH  give  evidence  accordingly!"  said  the  doctor,  with 
energy,  as  he  raised  himself  from  the  injured  man. 

"TheCT's  noa  place  few  him  i'  t'  Tower,  Mr.  Under- 
djaw,  an'  Ffl  take  noa  sich  Kbertyl" 

•Tkea  I  wffl.    Where's  Mr.  Mehose? " 

"F  London  —  till  to-morrow.  Yoll  do  nowt  o'  t'  soart, 
doctor." 

"We  ^ail  see.  To  carry  Inim  half  a  mile  to  the  farm, 
3ro«  aright  carry  him  just  across  that  bridge  to  the 
rould  be  sheer  murder.  I  won't  see  it  done.  And 
if  you  do  it,  you'll  be  indicted  for  maiisfaft^iter.  Now 
then  —  why  doesn't  that  hurdle  come  along.'"  The 
speaker  looked  impatiently  up  the  road;  and,  as  he  spoke, 
a  couple  of  labourers  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  lull, 
carrying  a  hurdle  between  them. 

Dixon  threw  looks  of  mingled  wrath  and  perplexity  at 
the  doctor,  and  the  men. 

"  I  tell  yo',  doctor,  it  conno'  be  done  I  Muster  Melrose's 
orders  mun  be  obeyed-  I  have  noa  power  to  admit 
onybody   to   his   house   withoot   his   leave.     Yo'   knaw 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  81 

yourser,"  he  added  in  the  doctor's  ear,  "what  Muster 
Mehose  is." 

Undershaw  muttered  something  —  expressing  either 
wrath  or  scorn  —  behind  his  moustache;  then  said 
aloud: 

"Never  you  mind,  Dison;  I  shall  take  the  responsi- 
bUity.  You  let  me  alone.  Now,  my  boys,  lend  a  hand 
with  the  hurdle,  and  give  me  some  coats." 

Faversham's  leg  had  been  already  placed  in  a  rough 
splint  and  his  head  bandaged.  They  lifted  him,  quite 
unconscious,  upon  the  hurdle,  and  made  him  as  comfort- 
able as  they  could.  The  doctor  anxiously  felt  his  pulse, 
and  directed  the  men  to  carry  him,  as  carefully  as  possible, 
through  a  narrow  gate  in  the  high  waU  opposite  which  was 
standing  open,  across  the  private  foot-bridge  over  the 
stream,  and  so  to  the  Terrace  whereon  stood  Threlfall 
Tower.  Impenetrably  hidden  as  it  was  behind  the  wall 
and  the  trees,  the  old  house  was  yet,  in  truth,  barely  sixty 
yards  away.  Dixon  followed,  lamenting  and  protesting, 
but  in  vain. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  man!"  said  Undershaw  at  last, 
losing  his  temper.  "  You  disgrace  your  master.  It  would 
be  a  pubHc  scandal  to  reftise  to  help  a  man  in  this  phght ! 
If  we  get  him  alive  through  to-night,  it  will  be  a  mercy. 
I  beheve  the  cart's  been  over  him  somewhere  I"  he  added. 
with  a  frowning  brow. 

Dixon  silenced,  but  by  no  means  persuaded,  followed 
the  Kttle  procession.till  it  reached  a  side  door  of  the  Tower, 
opening  on  the  terrace  just  beyond  the  bridge.  The  door 
was  shut,  and  it  was  not  till  the  doctor  had  made  several 
thunderous  attacks  upon  it,  beside  sending  men  round  to 


80  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

Ten  minutes  later  a  group  of  men  stood  consulting  by 
the  side  of  the  road  over  Faversham's  prostrate  form.  He 
was  unconscious;  his  head  and  face  were  covered  with 
blood,  and  his  left  ankle  was  apparently  broken.  A  small 
open  motor  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  and  an  angry 
dispute  was  going  on  between  an  old  man  in  mire-stained 
working-clothes,  and  the  young  doctor  from  Pengarth  to 
whom  the  motor  belonged. 

"I  say,  Mr.  Dixon,  that  you've  got  to  take  this  man 
into  Mr,  Melrose's  house  and  look  after  him,  till  he  is  fit 
to  be  moved  farther,  or  you'll  be  guilty  of  his  death,  and  I 
shall  give  evidence  accordingly!"  said  the  doctor,  with 
energy,  as  he  raised  himself  from  the  injured  man. 

"Theer's  noa  place  for  him  i'  f  Tower,  Mr.  Under- 
shaw,  an'  I'll  take  noa  sich  liberty!" 

"Then  I  will.     Where's  Mr.  Melrose?" 

"I'  London  —  till  to-morrow.  Yo'U  do  nowt  o'  t'  soart, 
doctor." 

"We  shall  see.  To  carry  him  half  a  mile  to  the  farm, 
when  you  might  carry  him  just  across  that  bridge  to  the 
house,  would  be  sheer  murder.  I  won't  see  it  done.  And 
if  you  do  it,  you'll  be  indicted  for  manslaughter.  Now 
then  —  why  doesn't  that  hurdle  come  along?"  The 
speaker  looked  impatiently  up  the  road;  and,  as  he  spoke, 
a  couple  of  labourers  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  hill, 
carrying  a  hurdle  between  them. 

Dixon  threw  looks  of  mingled  wrath  and  perplexity  at 
the  doctor,  and  the  men. 

"  I  tell  yo',  doctor,  it  conno'  be  done !  Muster  Melrose's 
orders  mun  be  obeyed.  I  have  noa  power  to  admit 
onybody    to    his    house    withoot    his    leave.     Yo'    knaw 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  81 

yoursel',"  he  added  in  the  doctor's  ear,  "what  Muster 
Melrose  is." 

Undershaw  muttered  something  —  expressing  either 
wrath  or  scorn  —  behind  his  moustache;  then  said 
aloud : 

"Never  you  mind,  Dixon;  I  shall  take  the  responsi- 
bility. You  let  me  alone.  Now,  my  boys,  lend  a  hand 
with  the  hurdle,  and  give  me  some  coats." 

Faversham's  leg  had  been  already  placed  in  a  rough 
spUnt  and  his  head  bandaged.  They  Hfted  him,  quite 
unconscious,  upon  the  hurdle,  and  made  him  as  comfort- 
able as  they  could.  The  doctor  anxiously  felt  his  pulse, 
and  directed  the  men  to  carry  him,  as  carefully  as  possible, 
through  a  narrow  gate  in  the  high  wall  opposite  which  was 
standing  open,  across  the  private  foot-bridge  over  the 
stream,  and  so  to  the  Terrace  whereon  stood  Threlfall 
Tower.  Impenetrably  hidden  as  it  was  behind  the  wall 
and  the  trees,  the  old  house  was  yet,  in  truth,  barely  sixty 
yards  away.  Dixon  followed,  lamenting  and  protesting, 
but  in  vain. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  man!"  said  Undershaw  at  last, 
losing  his  temper.  "  You  disgrace  your  master.  It  would 
be  a  public  scandal  to  refuse  to  help  a  man  in  this  plight! 
If  we  get  him  alive  through  to-night,  it  will  be  a  mercy. 
I  believe  the  cart's  been  over  him  somewhere!"  he  added, 
with  a  frowning  brow. 

Dixon  silenced,  but  by  no  means  persuaded,  followed 
the  Httle  procession, till  it  reached  a  side  door  of  the  Tower, 
opening  on  the  terrace  just  beyond  the  bridge.  The  door 
was  shut,  and  it  was  not  till  the  doctor  had  made  several 
thunderous  attacks  upon  it,  beside  sending  men  round  to 


82  THE  MATING  OF  LYDTA 

the  other  doors  of  the  house,  that  Mrs.  Dixon  at  last 
cautiously  opened  it. 

Fresh  remonstrance  and  refusal  followed  on  the  part 
both  of  husband  and  wife.  Fresh  determination  also  on 
the  part  of  the  doctor,  seconded  by  the  threatening  looks 
and  words  of  Faversham's  bearers,  stout  Cumbria  labour- 
ers, to  whom  the  storming  of  the  Tower  was  clearly  a  busi- 
ness they  enjoyed.  At  last  the  old  couple,  bitterly 
protesting,  gave  way,  and  the  procession  entered. 

They  found  themselves  in  a  long  corridor,  httered  with 
a  strange  multitude  of  objects,  scarcely  distinguishable 
in  the  dim  light  shed  by  one  unshuttered  window  through 
which  some  of  the  evening  glow  still  penetrated.  Dixon 
and  his  wife  whispered  excitedly  together;  after  which 
Dixon  led  the  way  through  the  corridor  into  the  entrance 
hall  —  which  was  equally  encumbered  —  and  so  to  a  door 
on  the  right. 

"Yo'  can  bring  him  in  there,"  he  said  sulkily  to  Under- 
shaw.  "There's  mebbe  a  bed  upstairs  we  can  bring 
doon." 

He  threw  open  the  drawing-room  —  a  dreary,  disused 
room,  with  its  carpets  rolled  up  in  one  corner,  and  its 
scanty  furniture  piled  in  another.  The  candle  held  by 
Mrs.  Dixon  ht  up  the  richly  decorated  ceiling. 

"Can't  you  do  anything  better?"  asked  Undershaw, 
turning  upon  her  vehemently.  "Don't  you  keep  a  spare 
bedroom  in  this  place?" 

"Noa,  we  doan't!"  said  Mrs.  Dixon,  with  answering 
temper.  "There  isn't  a  room  upstairs  but  what's  full  o' 
Muster  Melrose's  things.  Yo'  mun  do  wi'  this,  or  naethin'." 

Undershaw  submitted,  and  Faversham's  bearers  gently 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  83 

laid  him  down,  spreading  their  coats  on  the  bare  floor  to 
receive  him,  till  a  bed  could  be  found.  Dixon  and  his 
wife,  in  a  state  of  pitiable  disturbance,  went  off  to  look 
for  one,  while  Undershaw  called  after  them: 

"And  I  warn  you  that  to-morrow  you'll  have  to  find 
quarters  for  two  nurses!" 

Thus,  without  any  conscious  action  on  his  own  part, 
and  in  the  absence  of  its  formidable  master,  was  Claude 
Faversham  brought  under  the  roof  of  Threlfall  Tower. 


IV 

ON  THE  evening  of  the  following  day,  Mr.  Edmund 
Melrose  arrived  in  Pengarth  by  train  from  Lon- 
don, hired  a  one-horse  wagonette,  and  drove  out 
to  the  Tower. 

His  manners  were  at  no  time  amiable,  but  the  man  who 
had  the  honour  of  driving  him  on  this  occasion,  and  had 
driven  him  occasionally  before,  had  never  yet  seen  him  in 
quite  so  odious  a  temper.  This  was  already  evident  at  the 
time  of  the  start  from  Pengarth,  and  thenceforward  the 
cautious  Cumbrian  preserved  an  absolute  and  watchful 
silence,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  Melrose,  who  would  have 
welcomed  any  excuse  for  ill-humour.  But  as  nothing  be- 
yond the  curtest  monosyllables  were  to  be  got  out  of  his 
companion,  and  as  the  rich  beauty  of  the  May  landscape 
was  entirely  lost  upon  himself,  Melrose  was  reduced  at 
last  in  the  course  of  his  ten  miles'  drive  to  scanning  once 
more  the  copy  of  the  Times  which  he  had  brought  with 
him  from  the  south.  The  news  of  various  strikes  and  in- 
dustrial arbitrations  which  it  contained  had  already  en- 
raged him;  and  enraged  him  again  as  he  looked  through  it. 
The  proletariat,  in  his  opinion,  must  be  put  down  and  kept 
down;  that  his  owti  class  began  to  show  a  lamentable  want 
of  power  to  do  either  was  the  only  public  matter  that  ever 
really  troubled  him.  So  far  as  his  life  was  affected  by  the 
outside  world  at  all,  except  as  a  place  where  auctions  took 

84 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  85 

place,  and  dealers'  shops  abounded,  it  was  through  this 
consciousness  of  impending  social  disaster,  this  terror  as 
of  a  rapidly  approaching  darkness  bearing  the  doom  of  the 
modern  world  in  its  bosom,  which  intermittently  oppressed 
him,  as  it  has  oppressed  and  still  overshadows  innumer- 
able better  men  of  our  day. 

At  this  moment,  in  the  month  of  May,  190 — ,  Edmund 
Melrose  had  just  passed  his  seventieth  birthday.  But  the 
extraordinary  energy  and  vivacity  of  his  good  looks  had 
scarcely  abated  since  the  time  when,  twenty-three  years 
before  this  date,  Netta  Smeath  had  first  seen  him  in  Flor- 
ence; although  his  hair  had  whitened,  and  the  bronzed 
skin  of  the  face  had  developed  a  multitude  of  fine  wrinkles 
that  did  but  add  to  its  character.  His  aspect,  even  on  the 
threshold  of  old  age,  had  still  something  of  the  magnifi- 
cence of  an  Italian  captain  of  the  Renassiance,  something 
also  of  the  pouncing,  peering  air  that  belongs  to  the  type. 
He  seemed  indeed  to  be  always  on  the  point  of  seizing  or 
appropriating  some  booty  or  other.  His  wandering  eyes, 
his  long  acquisitive  fingers,  his  rapid  movements  showed 
him  still  the  hunter  on  the  trail,  to  whom  everything  else 
was  in  truth  indifferent  but  the  satisfaction  of  an  instinct 
which  had  grown  and  flourished  on  the  ruins  of  a  man. 

As  they  drove  along,  through  various  portions  of  the 
Tower  estates,  the  eyes  of  the  taciturn  driver  beside  him 
took  note  of  the  dilapidated  farm  buildings  and  the  broken 
gates  which  a  miserly  landlord  could  not  be  induced  to 
repair,  until  an  exasperated  tenant  actually  gave  notice. 
Melrose  meanwhile  was  absorbed  in  trying  to  recover  a 
paragraph  in  the  Times  he  had  caught  sight  of  on  a  first 
reading,  and  had  then  lost  in  the  excitement  of  studying 


86  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

the  prices  of  a  sale  at  Christie's,  held  the  day  before, 
wherein  his  own  ill  luck  had  led  to  the  bad  temper  from 
which  he  was  suffering.  He  tracked  the  passage  at  last. 
It  ran  as  follows: 

"The  late  Professor  William  Mackworth  has  left  the 
majority  of  his  costly  collections  to  the  nation.  To  the 
British  Museum  will  go  the  marbles  and  bronzes,  to  the 
South  Kensington,  the  china  and  the  tapestries.  Pro- 
fessor Mackworth  made  no  stipulations,  and  the  authori- 
ties of  both  museums  are  free  to  deal  with  his  bequests  as 
they  think  best." 

Melrose  folded  the  newspaper  and  put  it  back  into  his 
pocket  with  a  short  sudden  laugh,  which  startled  the  man 
beside  him.  "Stipulations!  I  should  rather  think  not! 
What  museum  in  its  senses  would  accept  such  piffling  stuff 
with  any  stipulations  attached?  As  it  is,  the  greater  part 
will  go  into  the  lumber-rooms;  they'll  never  show  them! 
There's  only  one  collection  that  Mackworth  ever  had  that 
was  worth  having.  Not  a  word  about  that.  People  don't 
give  their  best  things  to  the  country  —  not  they.  Hypo- 
crites! What  on  earth  has  he  done  with  them?  There 
are  several  things  /  want. " 

And  he  fell  into  a  long  and  greedy  meditation,  in  which, 
as  usual,  his  fancy  pursued  a  quarry  and  brought  it  down. 
He  took  no  notice  meanwhile  of  the  objects  passed  as  they 
approached  the  Tower,  although  among  them  were  many 
that  might  well  have  roused  the  attention  of  a  landlord; 
as,  for  instance,  the  condition  of  the  long  drive  leading  up 
to  the  house,  with  its  deep  ruts  and  grass-grown  sides;  a 
tree  blown  down,  not  apparently  by  any  very  recent  storm. 


THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA  87 

and  now  lying  half  across  the  roadway,  so  that  the  horse 
and  carriage  picked  their  way  with  difficulty  round  its 
withered  branches;  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  fine  gateway, 
which  gave  access  to  the  walled  enclosure  round  the  house, 
broken  away;  and  the  enclosure  within,  which  had  been 
designed  originally  as  a  formal  garden  in  the  Italian  style, 
and  was  now  a  mere  tangled  wilderness  of  weeds  and  coarse 
grass,  backed  by  dense  thickets  of  laurel  and  yew  which 
had  grown  up  in  a  close  jungle  round  the  house,  so 
that  many  of  the  lower  windows  were  impenetrably  over- 
grown. 

As  they  drew  up  at  the  gate,  the  Pengarth  driver  looked 
with  furtive  curiosity  at  the  house-front.  Melrose,  in  the 
words  of  Lydia  to  young  Faversham,  had  "become  a 
legend"  to  his  neighbourhood,  and  many  strange  things 
were  believed  about  him.  It  w^as  said  that  the  house  con- 
tained a  number  of  locked  and  shuttered  rooms  which 
were  never  entered;  that  Melrose  slept  by  day,  and  worked 
or  prowled  by  night;  that  his  only  servants  were  the  two 
Dixons,  no  one  else  being  able  to  endure  his  company; 
that  he  and  the  house  were  protected  by  savage  dogs,  and 
that  his  sole  visitors  were  occasional  strangers  from  the 
south,  who  arrived  with  black  bags,  and  often  departed 
pursued  with  objurgations  by  Melrose,  and  in  terror  of  the 
dogs.  It  was  said  also  that  the  Tower  was  full  of  precious 
and  marvellous  things,  including  hordes  of  gold  and  silver; 
that  Melrose,  who  was  detested  in  the  countryside,  hved 
in  the  constant  dread  of  burglary  or  murder;  and  finally  — 
as  a  clue  to  the  whole  situation  which  the  popular  mind 
insisted  on  supplying  —  that  he  had  committed  some  fear- 
ful crime,  during  his  years  in  foreign  parts,  for  which  he 


88  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

could  not  be  brought  to  justice;  but  remorse  and  dread  of 
discovery  had  affected  his  brain,  and  turned  him  into  a 
skulking  outcast. 

Possessed  by  these  simple  but  interesting  ideas,  the 
Pengarth  man  sharply  noticed,  first  that  the  gate  of  the 
enclosure  was  padlocked,  Melrose  himself  supplying  a  key 
from  his  pocket;  next  that  most  of  the  windows  of  the 
front  were  shuttered;  and  lastly  —  strange  and  unique 
fact,  according  to  his  own  recollections  of  the  Tower  — 
that  two  windows  on  the  ground  floor  were  standing  wide 
open,  giving  some  view  of  the  large  room  within,  so  far  as 
two  partially  drawn  curtains  allowed.  As  Melrose  un- 
locked the  gate,  the  house  dooropened,  and  three  huge  dogs 
came  bounding  out,  in  front  of  a  gray-haired  man,  whom 
the  driver  of  the  wagonette  knew  to  be  "owd  Dixon," 
Melrose's  butler  and  factotum.  The  driver  was  watching 
the  whole  scene  with  an  absorbed  curiosity,  when  Melrose 
turned,  threw  him  a  sudden  look,  paid  him,  and  peremp- 
torily bade  him  be  off.  He  had  therefore  no  time  to  ob- 
serve the  perturbation  of  Dixon  who  was  coming  with  slow 
steps  to  meet  his  master;  nor  that  a  woman  in  white  cap 
and  apron  had  appeared  behind  him  on  the  steps. 

Melrose  on  opening  the  gate  found  himseK  surrounded 
by  his  dogs,  a  fine  mastiff  and  two  young  collies.  He  was 
trying  to  drive  them  off,  after  a  gruff  word  to  Dixon,  when 
he  was  suddenly  brought  to  a  standstill  by  the  sight  of  the 
woman  on  the  steps. 

"D nit!  — whom    have  you    got    here?"   he  said, 

fiercely  perceiving  at  the  same  moment  the  open  windows 
on  the  ground  floor. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  S9 

"Muster  Melrose  —  it's  noan  o'  my  doin',"  was  Dixon's 
trembling  reply,  as  he  pointed  a  shaky  finger  at  the  win- 
dows. "It  was  t'  yoong  doctor  from  Pengarth  —  yo' 
ken  him " 

A  woman's  voice  interrupted. 

"Please,  sir,  would  you  stop  those  dogs  barking?  They 
disturb  the  patient." 

Melrose  looked  at  the  speaker  in  stupefaction. 

"What  the  deuce  have  you  been  doing  with  my  house.?  " 

—  he  turned  furiously  to  Dixon  —  "who  are  these 
people.'' " 

"Theer's  a  yoong  man  lyin'  sick  i'  the  drawin'-room," 
said  Dixon  desperately.  "They  do  say  'at  he's  in  a  varra 
parlish  condition;  an'  they  tell  me  there's  to  be  no  barkin' 
nor  noise  whativer." 

"Well,  upon  my  word!"  Melrose  was  by  this  time 
pale  with  rage.  "A  young  man  —  sick  —  in  my  drawing- 
room  !  —  and  a  young  woman  giving  orders  in  my  house ! 

—  you're  a  precious  lot  —  you  are!"  He  strode  on 
toward  the  young  woman,  who,  as  he  now  saw,  was  in  the 
dress  of  a  nurse.  She  had  descended  the  steps,  and  was 
\ainly  trying  to  quiet  the  dogs. 

"I'll  uphold  yer!"  muttered  Dixon,  following  slowly 
after;  "it's  the  queerest  do-ment  that  iver  I  knew!' 

"  Madam !  I  should  like  to  know  what  your  business  is 
here.  I  never  invited  you  that  I  know  of,  and  I  am  en- 
tirely at  a  loss  to  understand  your  appearance  in  my 
house!" 

The  girl  whom  INIelrose  addressed  with  this  fierce  mock 
courtesy  turned  on  him  a  perplexed  face. 

"I  know  nothing  about  it,  sir,  except  that  I  was  sum- 


90  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

moned  from  Manchester  last  night  to  an  urgent  case,  and 
arrived  early  this  morning.  Can't  you,  sir,  quiet  your 
dogs?     Mr.  Faversham  is  very  ill." 

"In  my  house!"  cried  Melrose,  furiously.  "I  won't 
have  it.  He  shan't  remain  here.  I  will  have  him  re- 
moved." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  amazement. 

"That,  sir,  would  be  quite  impossible.  It  would  kill  him 
to  move  him.     Please,  Mr,  Dixon,  help  me  with  the  dogs." 

She  turned  imploringly  to  Dixon,  who  obediently 
administered  various  kicks  and  cuffs  to  the  noisy  trio 
which  at  last  procured  silence. 

Her  expression  lightened,  and  with  the  professional 
alertness  of  one  who  has  no  time  to  spend  in  gossiping, 
she  turned  and  went  quickly  back  into  the  house. 

Dixon  approached  his  master, 

"That's  yan  o'  them,"  he  said,  gloomily,  "T'other's 
inside," 

"T'other  who,?  —  what,'*  Tell  me,  you  old  fool,  at 
once  what  the  whole  cursed  business  is !  Are  you  mad  or 
ami.?" 

Dixon  eyed  him  calmly.  He  had  by  this  time  sum- 
moned to  his  aid  the  semi-mystical  courage  given  him 
occasionally  by  his  evangelical  faith.  If  it  was  the  Lord's 
will  that  such  a  thing  should  happen,  why  it  was  the  Lord's 
will;  and  it  was  no  use  whatever  for  Mr,  Melrose  or  any 
one  else  to  kick  against  the  pricks.  So  with  much  teasing 
deliberation,  and  constantly  interrupted  by  his  angry 
master,  he  told  the  story  of  the  accident  on  the  evening 
before,  of  Doctor  Undershaw's  appearance  on  the  scene, 
and  of  the  storming  of  the  Tower, 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  91 

"Well,  of  all  the  presuming  rascals!"  said  Melrose  with 
slow  fury,  under  his  breath,  when  the  tale  was  done. 
"But  we'll  be  even  with  him !  Send  a  man  from  the  farm, 
at  once,  to  the  cottage  hospital  at  Whitebeck,  They've 
got  an  ambulance  —  I  commission  it.  It's  a  hospital 
case.  They  shall  see  to  it.  Be  quick !  March !  —  do  you 
hear?  —  I  intended  to  quit  of  them  —  bag  and  baggage!" 

Dixon  did  not  move. 

"  Doctor  said  if  we  were  to  move  un  now,  it  'ud  be  man- 
slaughter," he  said  stohdly,  "an'  he'd  have  us  'op." 

"  Oh,  he  would,  would  he ! "  roared  Melrose,     "  I'll  see  to 

that.     Go  along,  and  do  what  you're  told.     D n  it!  am 

I  not  to  be  obeyed,  sir.^  " 

Wherewith  he  hurried  toward  the  house.  Dixon  looked 
after  him,  shook  his  head,  and  instead  of  going  toward 
the  farm,  quietly  retreated  round  the  farther  corner  of  the 
house  to  the  kitchen.  He  was  the  only  person  at  the 
Tower  who  had  ever  dared  to  cross  Melrose.  He  attempted 
it  but  rarely;  but  when  he  did,  Melrose  was  each  time 
freshly  amazed  to  discover  that,  in  becoming  his  factotum, 
Dixon  had  not  altogether  ceased  to  be  a  man, 

Melrose  entered  the  house  by  the  front  door.  As  he 
walked  into  the  hall,  making  not  the  slightest  effort  to 
moderate  the  noise  of  his  approach,  another  woman  —  also 
in  white  cap  and  apron  —  ran  toward  him,  with  quick 
noiseless  steps  from  the  corridor,  her  finger  on  her 
lip. 

"Please,  sir!  —  it  is  most  important  for  the  patient  that 
the  house  should  be  absolutely  quiet." 

"I  tell  you  the  house  is  mine!"  said  Melrose,  positively 
stamping.     "WTiat  business  have  you  —  or  the  other  one 


m  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

—  to  give  orders  in  it?  I'll  turn  you  all  out!  —  you  shall 
march,  I  tell  you!" 

The  nurse  —  an  older  woman  than  the  first  who  had 
spoken  to  him  outside  —  drew  back  with  dignity. 

'T  am  sorry  if  I  offended  you,  sir.  I  was  summoned 
from  Carhsle  this  morning  as  night  nurse  to  an  urgent  case. 
I  have  been  helping  the  other  nurse  all  day,  for  Mr.  Faver- 
sham  has  wanted  a  great  deal  of  attention.  I  am  now  just 
going  on  duty,  while  the  day  nurse  takes  some  rest." 

"Show  me  where  he  is,"  said  Melrose  peremptorily. 
"I  wish  to  see  him." 

The  nurse  hesitated.  But  if  this  was  really  the  master 
of  the  house,  it  was  difficult  to  ignore  him  entirely.  She 
looked  at  his  feet. 

"You'U  come  in  quietly,  sir.'  I  am  afraid  —  your 
boots " 

"Oh,  go  on!  Order  me  about!  What's  wrong  with  my 
boots.''"     The  pale  grin  was  meant  for  sarcasm. 

"They're  rather  hea\y,  sir,  for  a  sick-room.  Would 
you  —  would  you  mind  —  taking  them  off.'*" 

"Upon  my  word,  you're  a  cool  one!" 

But  there  was  something  in  the  quiet  self-possession  of 
the  woman  which  coerced,  while  it  exasperated  him.  He 
perceived  plainly  that  she  took  him  for  a  madman  to  be 
managed.  Yet,  after  glaring  at  her  for  a  moment,  he  sat 
down  fuming,  and  removed  his  boots.     She  smiled. 

"That'll  do  nicely,  sir.  Now  if  you  don't  mind  coming 
very  quietly " 

She  glided  to  the  door  of  the  drawing-room,  opened  it 
noiselessly  and  beckoned  to  Melrose.  He  went  in,  and, 
against  his  will,  he  went  on  tiptoe,  and  holding  his  breath. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  9» 

Inside,  he  looked  round  the  darkened  room  in  angry- 
amazement.  It  had  been  wholly  transformed.  The 
open  windows  had  been  cleaned  and  curtained;. the  oak 
floor  shone  as  though  it  had  been  recently  washed;  there 
was  a  table  on  which  were  medicine  bottles  and  glasses, 
with  a  chair  or  two;  while  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  care- 
fully screened  from  light,  was  a  white  bed.  Upon  it,  a 
motionless  form. 

"Poor  young  fellow!"  whispered  the  nurse,  standing 
beside  Melrose,  her  kind  face  softening.  "He  has  been 
conscious  a  little  to-day  —  the  doctor  is  hopeful.  But  he 
has  been  very  badly  hurt." 

Melrose  surveyed  him  —  the  interloper!  —  who  repre- 
sented to  him  at  that  moment  one  of  those  unexpected 
checks  and  annoyances  in  life,  which  selfish  men  with 
strong  wills  cannot  and  do  not  attempt  to  bear.  His 
privacy,  his  habits,  his  freedom  —  all  at  the  mercy  of  this 
white-faced  boy,  these  two  intolerable  women,  and  the 
still  more  intolerable  doctor,  on  whom  he  intended  to 
inflect  a  stinging  lesson!  No  doubt  the  whole  thing  had 
been  done  by  the  wretched  pill-man  with  a  view  to  his  own 
fees.     It  was  a  plant!  —  an  infamous  conspiracy. 

He  came  closer.  Not  a  boy,  after  all.  A  young  man  of 
thirty  —  perhaps  more.  The  brow  and  head  were  covered 
with  bandages;  the  eyes  were  closed;  the  bloodless  mouth 
hung  slightly  open,  with  a  look  of  pain.  The  comeli- 
ness of  the  dark,  slightly  bearded  face  was  not  entirely 
disguised  by  the  dressings  in  which  the  head  was  swathed; 
and  the  chest  and  arms,  from  which  the  bedclothes  had 
been  folded  back,  were  finel3%  though  sparely,  moulded. 
Melrose,  whose  life  was    spent    among    artistic    objects 


94  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

was  not  insensible  to  the  young  man's  good  looks,  as 
they  were  visible  even  under  his  bandages  and  in  the  dim 
light,  and  for  the  first  time  he  felt  a  slight  stir  of  pity. 

He  left  the  room,  beckoning  to  the  night  nurse. 

"What's  his  name.?" 

"We  took  some  cards  from  his  pocket.  I  think,  sir,  the 
doctor  put  them  here  for  you  to  see." 

The  nurse  went  to  the  hall  table  and  brought  one. 

"Claude  Faversham,  5  Temple  Buildings,  E.  C." 

"Some  young  loafer,  pretending  to  be  a  barrister,"  said 
Melrose  contemptuously.  "What's  he  doing  here  —  in 
May?  This  is  not  the  tourist  season.  What  business  had 
he  to  be  here  at  all?  I  have  no  doubt  whatever  that  he 
was  drunk,  otherwise  why  should  he  have  had  an  accident? 
Nobody  else  ever  had  an  accident  on  that  hill.  Why 
should  he,  eh?  Why  should  he?  And  how  the  deuce  are 
we  to  get  at  his  relations?" 

The  nurse  could  only  reply  that  she  had  no  ideas  on  the 
subject,  and  had  hardly  spoken  when  the  sound  of  wheels 
outside  brought  a  look  of  relief  to  her  face. 

"That's  the  ice,"  she  said,  rejoicingly.  "We  sent  for  it 
to  Pengarth  this  afternoon." 

And  she  fled  on  light  steps  to  the  front  door. 

" Sent  whom?  My  man  —  My  cart ! "  growled  Melrose, 
following  her,  to  verify  the  outrage  with  his  own  eyes. 
And  there  indeed  at  the  steps  stood  the  light  cart,  the 
only  vehicle  which  the  master  of  the  Tower  possessed, 
driven  by  his  only  outdoor  servant,  Joe  Backhouse,  who 
had  succeeded  Dixon  as  gardener.  It  was  full  of  packages, 
which  the  nurse  was  eagerly  taking  out,  comparing  them 
with  a  list  she  held  in  her  hand. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  95 

"And  of  course  I'm  to  pay  for  them!"  thought  Melrose 
furiously.  No  doubt  his  credit  has  been  pledged  up  to 
the  hilt  already  for  this  intruder,  this  beggar  at  his  gates 
by  these  impertinent  women.  He  stood  there  watching 
every  packet  and  bundle  with  which  the  nurse  was  load- 
ing her  strong  arms,  feeling  himself  the  while  an  utterly 
persecuted  and  injured  being,  the  sport  of  gods  and  men; 
when  the  sight  of  a  motor  turning  the  corner  of  the  grass- 
grown  drive,  diverted  his  thoughts. 

The  doctor  —  the  arch-villian  of  the  plot ! 

Melrose  bethought  himself  a  moment.  Then  he  went 
along  the  corridor  to  his  library,  half  expecting  to  see 
some  other  invader  ensconced  in  liLs  own  chair.  He  rang 
the  bell  and  Dixon  hurriedly  appeared. 

"Show  Doctor  Undershaw  in  here." 

And  standing  on  the  rug,  every  muscle  in  his  tall  and 
still  Aagorous  frame  tightening  in  expectation  of  the  foe, 
he  looked  frowning  round  the  chaos  of  his  room.  Pictures, 
with  or  without  frames,  and  frames  without  pictures; 
books  in  packing-cases  with  hinged  sides,  standing  piled 
one  upon  another,  some  closed  and  some  with  the  sides 
open  and  showing  the  books  within;  portfolios  of  engrav- 
ings and  drawings;  inlaid  or  i^•ory  boxes,  containing  a 
medley  of  objects  —  miniatures,  snuflF-boxes,  buttons, 
combs,  seals;  vases  and  plates  of  blue  and  white  Nankin; 
an  Italian  stucco  or  two;  a  Renaissance  bust  in  painted 
wood;  fragments  of  stuff,  cabinets,  chairs,  and  tables  of 
various  dates  and  styles  —  all  were  gathered  together  in 
one  vast  and  ugly  confusion.  It  might  have  been  a  salone 
in  one  of  the  big  curiosity  shops  of  Rome  or  Venice,  where 
the  wrecks  and  sports  of  centuries  are  heaped  into  the 


96  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

piano  nohile  of  some  great  building,  once  a  palazzo,  now 
a  chain  of  lumber  rooms.  For  here  also,  the  large  and 
stately  library,  with  its  nobly  designed  bookcases  —  still 
empty  of  books  —  its  classical  panelhng,  and  embossed 
ceiling,  made  a  setting  of  which  the  miscellaneous  plun- 
der within  it  was  not  worthy.  A  man  of  taste  would  have 
conceived  the  beautiful  room  itself  as  suffering  from  the 
disorderly  uses  to  which  it  was  put. 

Only,  in  the  centre,  the  great  French  table,  the  master- 
piece of  Riesener,  still  stood  respected  and  unencumbered. 
It  held  nothing  but  a  Sevres  inkstand  and  pair  of  candle- 
sticks that  had  once  belonged  to  Madame  EHsabeth.  Mrs. 
Dixon  dusted  it  every  morning,  with  a  feather  brush, 
generally  under  the  eyes  of  Melrose.  He  himself  regarded 
it  with  a  fanatical  veneration;  and  one  of  the  chief  pleas- 
ures of  his  life  was  to  beguile  some  passing  dealer  into 
making  an  offer  for  it,  and  then  contemptuously  show  him 
the  door. 

"Doctor  Undershaw,  Muster  Melrose." 

Melrose  stood  to  arms. 

A  young  man  entered,  his  step  quick  and  decided.  He 
was  squarely  built,  with  spectacled  gray  eyes,  and  a  shght 
brown  moustache  on  an  otherwise  smooth  face.  He 
looked  what  he  was  —  competent,  sincere,  and  unafraid. 

ISIelrose  did  not  move  from  his  position  as  the  doctor 
approached,  and  barely  acknowledged  his  bow.  Behind 
the  sarcasm  of  his  voice  the  inner  fury  could  be  felt. 

"I  presume,  sir,  you  have  come  to  offer  me  your  apolo- 
gies.?" 

Undershaw  looked  up. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Mr,  Melrose,  to  have  inconvenienced 


THE  INIATING  OF  lATDIA  97 

you  and  your  household.  But  really  after  such  an  acci- 
dent there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done.  I  am  certain  you 
would  have  done  the  same  yourself.  When  I  first  saw 
him,  the  poor  fellow  was  in  a  dreadful  state.  The  only 
thing  to  do  was  to  carry  him  into  the  nearest  shelter  and 
look  after  him.  It  was  —  I  assure  you  —  a  case  of  hfe 
and  death." 

Melrose  made  an  effort  to  control  himself,  but  the  situa- 
tion was  too  much  for  him. 

He  burst  out,  storming : 

"I  wonder,  sir,  that  you  have  the  audacity  to  present 
yourself  to  me  at  all.  \Mio  or  what  authorized  you,  I 
should  like  to  know,  to  take  possession  of  my  house,  and 
install  this  young  man  here.^  \Vliat  have  I  to  do  with  him? 
He  has  no  claim  on  me  — ■  not  the  hundredth  part  of  a 
farthing!  My  servant  tells  me  he  offered  to  help  you 
carry  him  to  the  farm,  which  is  only  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
distant.  That  of  course  would  have  been  the  reasonable, 
the  gentlemanly  thing  to  do,  but  just  in  order  to  insult  me, 
to  break  into  the  privacy  of  a  man  who,  you  know,  has 
always  endeavoured  to  protect  himself  and  his  life  from 
vulgar  tongues  and  eyes,  you  must  needs  browbeat  my 
servants,  and  break  open  my  house.  I  tell  you,  sir,  this 
is  a  matter  for  the  lawyers!  It  shan't  end  here.  I've 
sent  for  an  ambulance,  and  I'll  thank  you  to  make  arrange- 
ments at  once  to  remove  this  young  man  to  some  neigh- 
bouring hospital,  where,  I  understand,  he  will  have  every 
attention." 

Melrose,  even  at  seventy,  was  over  six  feet,  and  as  he 
stood  towering  above  the  little  doctor,  his  fine  gray  hair 
flowing  back  from  strong  aquiline  features,  inflamed  with 


98  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

a  passion  of  wrath,  he  made  a  sufficiently  magnificent 
appearance.  Undershaw  grew  a  httle  pale,  but  he  fronted 
his  accuser  quietly. 

"  If  you  wish  him  removed,  Mr.  Melrose,  you  must  take 
the  responsibihty  yourself,  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it  —  nor  will  the  nurses." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir.'*     You  get  yourseK  and  me  into 

this  d d  hobble,  and  then  you  refuse  to  take  the  only 

decent  way  out  of  it !  I  request  you  —  I  command  you  — 
as  soon  as  the  WTiitebeck  ambulance  comes,  to  remove 
your  patient  at  once,  and  the  two  women  who  are  looking 
after  him." 

Undershaw  slipped  his  hands  into  his  pockets.  The 
coolness  of  the  gesture  was  not  lost  on  Melrose. 

"I  regret  that  for  a  few  days  to  come  I  cannot  sanction 
anything  of  the  kind.  My  business,  Mr.  Melrose,  as  a 
doctor,  is  not  to  kill  people,  but,  if  I  can,  to  cure  them." 

"  Don't  talk  such  nonsense  to  me,  sir !  Every  one  knows 
that  any  serious  case  can  be  safely  removed  in  a  proper 
ambulance.  The  whole  thing  is  monstrous !  By  G — d,  sir, 
what  law  obliges  me  to  give  up  my  house  to  a  man  I  know 
nothing  about,  and  a  whole  tribe  of  hangers-on,  besides.''" 

And,  fairly  beside  himself,  Melrose  struck  a  carved 
chest,  standing  within  reach,  a  blow  which  made  the  china 
and  glass  objects  huddled  upon  it  ring  again. 

"Well,"  said  Undershaw  slowly,  "there  is  such  a  thing 
as  —  a  law  of  humanity.  But  I  imagine  if  you  turn  out 
that  man  against  my  advice,  and  he  dies  on  the  road  to 
hospital,  that  some  other  kind  of  law  might  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  it." 

"You  refuse!" 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  99 

The  shout  made  the  Uttle  doctor,  always  mindful  of 
his  patient,  look  behind  him,  to  see  that  the  door  was 
closed. 

"He  cannot  be  moved  for  three  or  four  days,"  was  the 
firm  reply.  "The  chances  are  that  he  would  collapse  on 
the  road.  But  as  soon  as  ever  the  thing  is  possible  you 
shall  be  relieved  of  him.  I  can  easily  find  accommodation 
for  him  at  Pengarth.  At  present  he  is  suffering  from  very 
severe  concussion.  I  hope  there  is  not  actual  brain  lesion 
—  but  there  may  be.  And,  if  so,  to  move  him  now  would 
be  simply  to  destroy  his  chance  of  recovery." 

The  two  men  confronted  each  other,  the  unreasonable 
fury  of  the  one  met  by  the  scientific  conscience  of  the  other. 
IVIelrose  was  dumfounded  by  the  mingled  steadiness  and 
audacity  of  the  little  doctor.  His  mad  self-will,  his  pride 
of  class  and  wealth,  surviving  through  all  his  eccentricities, 
found  it  unbearable  that  Undershaw  should  show  no  real 
compunction  whatever  for  what  he  had  done,  nay,  rather, 
a  quiet  conviction  that,  rage  as  he  might,  the  owner  of 
ThreLfall  Tower  would  have  to  submit.  It  was  indeed  the 
suggestion  in  the  doctor's  manner,  of  an  unexplained  com- 
pulsion behind  —  ethical  or  humanitarian  —  not  to  be 
explained,  but  simply  to  be  taken  for  granted,  which  per- 
haps infuriated  Melrose  more  than  anytliing  else. 

Nevertheless,  as  he  still  glared  at  his  enemy,  Melrose 
suddenly  realized  that  the  man  was  right.  He  would  have 
to  submit.  For  many  reasons,  he  could  not  —  at  this 
moment  in  particular  —  excite  any  fresh  hue  and  cry 
which  might  bring  the  whole  countryside  on  his  back. 
Unless  the  doctor  were  lying,  and  he  could  get  another  of 
the  craft  to  certify  it,  he  would  have  to  put  up  —  for  the 


100  THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA 

very  minimum  of  time  —  with  the  intolerable  plague   of 
this  invasion. 

He  turned  away  abruptly,  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the 
only  free  space  the  room  contained,  and  returned. 

"Perhaps  you  will  kindly  inform  me,  sir — -since  you 
have  been  good  enough  to  take  this  philanthropic  business 
on  yourself  —  or  rather  to  shovel  it  on  to  me"  —  each 
sarcastic  word  was  flung  hke  a  javelin  at  the  doctor  — 
"whether  you  know  anything  whatever  of  this  youth  you 
are  thrusting  upon  me.^  I  don't  imagine  that  he  has 
dropped  from  the  skies !  If  you  don't  know,  and  haven't 
troubled  yourself  to  find  out,  I  shall  set  the  pohce  on  at 
once,  track  his  friends,  and  hand  him  over!" 

Undershaw  was  at  once  all  ci\ility  and  alacrity. 

"I  have  already  made  some  inquiries  at  Keswick,  Mr. 
Melrose,  where  I  was  this  morning.  He  was  staying,  it 
appears,  with  some  friends  at  the  Victoria  Hotel  —  a  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Ransom,  Americans.  The  hotel  people  thought 
that  he  had  been  to  meet  them  at  Liverpool,  had  taken 
them  through  the  Lakes,  and  had  then  seen  them  off  for 
the  south.  He  himself  was  on  his  way  to  Scotland  to  fish. 
He  had  sent  his  luggage  to  Pengarth  by  rail,  and  chose 
to  bicycle,  himself,  through  the  Vale  of  St.  John,  because 
the  weather  was  so  fine.  He  intended  to  catch  a  night 
train  on  the  main  line." 

"Just  as  I  supposed!  Idle  scapegrace!  —  with  nothing 
in  the  world  to  do  but  to  get  himself  and  other  people  into 
trouble!" 

"You  saw  the  card  that  I  left  for  you  on  the  hall  table.'* 
But  there  is  something  else  that  we  found  upon  him  in 
undressing  him  which  I  should  greatly  prefer,  if  I  might,  to 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  101 

hand  over  to  your  care.  You,  I  have  no  doubt,  under- 
stand such  things.  They  seem  to  be  valuable,  and  neither 
the  nurses  nor  I  at  all  wish  to  have  charge  of  them.  There 
is  a  ring"  —  Undershaw  searched  his  pockets  —  "and  this 
case." 

He  held  out  two  small  objects.  Melrose  —  still  breath- 
ing quick  with  anger  —  took  them  unwillingly.  With 
the  instinctive  gesture  of  the  collector,  however,  he  put  up 
his  eyeglass  to  look  at  the  ring.  Undershaw  saw  him 
start. 

"Good  heavens!" 

The  voice  was  that  of  another  man.  He  looked  frown- 
ing at  Undershaw. 

"Where  did  you  get  this.''" 

"He  wore  it  on  his  left  hand.  It  is  sharp  as  you  see, 
and  rather  large,  and  the  nurse  was  afraid,  while  he  is  still 
restless  and  sometimes  delirious,  he  might  do  himself 
some  hurt  with  it." 

Melrose  opened  the  case  —  a  small  flat  case  of  worn 
green  leather  some  six  inches  long;  and  looked  at  its  con- 
tents in  a  speechless  amazement.  The  ring  was  a  Greek 
gem  of  the  best  period  —  an  Artemis  with  the  towered 
crown,  cut  in  amethyst.  The  case  contained  six  pieces, 
—  two  cameos,  and  four  engraved  gems  —  amethyst, 
cornelian,  sardonyx,  and  rock  crystal;  which  Melrose 
recognized  at  once  as  among  the  most  precious  things  of 
this  kind  in  the  world !  He  turned  abruptly,  walked  to  his 
writing-table,  took  out  the  gems,  weighed  them  in  his 
hand,  examined  them  with  a  magnifying  glass,  or  held 
them  to  the  light,  muttering  to  himself,  and  apparently 
no  longer  conscious  of  the  presence  of  Undershaw.     Recol- 


102  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

lections  ran  about  his  brain:  "Mackworth  showed  me 
that  Medusa  himself  last  year  in  London.  He  bought 
that  Mars  at  the  Castellani  sale.  And  that's  the  Muse 
which  that  stupid  brute  Vincent  had  my  commission  for, 
and  let  slip  through  his  fingers  at  the  Arconati  sale!" 

Undershaw  observed  him,  with  an  amusement  carefully 
concealed.  He  had  suspected  from  the  beginning  that  in 
these  possessions  of  the  poor  stricken  youth  means  might 
be  found  for  taming  the  formidable  master  of  the  Tower. 
For  himself  he  scorned  "la  curiosite,"  and  its  devotees, 
as  mere  triflers  and  shell-gatherers  on  shores  bathed  by 
the  great  ocean  of  science.  But  like  all  natural  rulers  of 
men  he  was  quick  to  seize  on  any  weakness  that  suited  his 
own  ends;  and  he  said  to  himself  that  Faversham  was  safe. 

"They  are  valuable.?"  he  asked,  as  Melrose  still  sat 
absorbed. 

"They  are,"  was  the  curt  reply. 

"I  am  glad  they  have  fallen  into  such  good  hands. 
They  show  I  think"  —  the  speaker  smiled  amicably  — 
"that  we  have  not  to  do  with  any  mere  penniless  adven- 
turer. His  friends  are  probably  at  this  moment  extremely 
anxious  about  him.  I  hope  we  may  soon  get  some  clue 
to  them.  Now"  —  the  voice  sharpened  to  the  practical 
note —  "may  I  appeal  to  you,  Mr.  Melrose,  to  make  ar- 
rangements for  the  nurses  as  soon  as  is  convenient  to  you. 
Their  wants  are  very  simple  —  two  beds  —  plain  food  — 
a  small  amount  of  attendance  —  and  some  means  of 
communicating  without  too  much  delay  with  myself,  or 
the  chemist.  I  promise  they  shall  give  as  httle  trouble  as 
possible!" 

Melrose  rose  slowly  without  replying.     He  took  a  bunch 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  103 

of  keys  from  is  pocket,  and  opened  one  of  the  drawers  in 
the  Riesener  table.  As  he  did  so,  the  drawer,  under  a 
stream  of  sunset  Ught  from  the  window  beyond  it,  seemed 
to  give  out  a  many-coloured  flash  —  a  rapid  Irislike  effect, 
lost  in  a  moment.  The  impression  made  on  Undershaw 
was  that  the  drawer  already  contained  gems  hke  those  in 
the  case  —  or  jewels  —  or  both. 

Melrose  seemed  to  have  opened  the  drawer  in  a  fit  of 
abstraction  during  which  he  had  forgotten  Undershaw's 
presence.  But,  if  so,  the  act  roused  him,  and  he  looked 
round  half  angrily,  half  furtively  at  his  visitor,  as  he  hastily 
relocked  the  drawer. 

Then  speaking  with  renewed  arrogance,  he  said: 

"  Well,  sir,  I  will  see  to  these  things.  For  to-night,  I  con- 
sent —  for  to-night  only,  mind  you  —  reserving  entirely 
my  liberty  of  action  for  to-morrow." 

Undershaw  nodded,  and  they  left  the  room  together. 

Dixon  and  Mrs.  Dixon  were  both  waiting  in  the  passage 
outside,  W'atching  for  Melrose,  and  hanging  on  his  aspect. 
To  their  amazement  they  were  told  that  a  room  was  to  be 
got  ready  for  the  nurses,  a  girl  was  to  be  fetched  to  wait  on 
them  from  the  farm,  and  food  was  to  be  cooked. 

The  faces  of  both  the  old  servants  showed  instant  rehef . 
Dixon  went  off  to  the  farm,  and  Mrs.  Dixon  flew  to  her 
kitchen.  She  was  getting  old,  and  the  thought  of  the  extra 
work  to  be  done  oppressed  her.  Nevertheless  after  these 
years  of  solitude,  passed  as  it  were  in  a  besieged  camp — 
Threlfall  and  its  inmates  against  the  world  —  this  new  and 
tardy  contact  with  humanity,  this  momentary  return  to 
neighbourly,  kindly  ways  brought  with  it  a  strange  sweet- 
ness.     And  when  night  fell,  and  a  subdued,  scarcely  per- 


104  THE  INIATING  OF  LYDIA 

ceptible  murmur  of  life  began  to  creep  about  the  passages 
of  the  old  house,  in  general  so  dead  and  silent,  Mrs.  Dixon 
might  have  been  heard  hoarsely  crooning  an  old  song  to 
herself  as  she  went  to  and  fro  in  the  kitchen.  All  the 
evening  she  and  Dixon  were  restless,  inventing  work, 
when  work  was  finished,  running  from  yard  to  house  and 
house  to  yard,  calling  to  each  other  without  reason,  and 
looking  at  each  other  with  bewildered  eyes.  They  were 
like  beetles  under  a  stone,  when  the  stone  is  suddenly 
lifted. 

Gradually  the  house  sank  to  rest.  Dixon  creeping  past 
the  door  of  the  sick-room,  on  his  stockinged  feet,  could 
hear  the  moaning,  the  hoarse  indeterminate  sounds,  now 
loud,  now  plaintive,  made  by  the  sufiFerer.  The  day  nurse 
came  out  with  an  anxious  face,  on  her  way  to  bed.  Mr. 
Faversham  she  said  was  very  ill  —  what  could  be  done  if 
it  did  become  necessary  to  summon  the  doctor  .f*  Dixon 
assured  her  the  gardener  who  was  also  the  groom  was  sleep- 
ing in  the  house,  and  the  horse  was  in  the  stable.  She  had 
only  to  wake  Mrs.  Dixon  —  he  showed  her  where  and 
how.  In  the  dark  corridor,  amid  all  its  obstructive  lum- 
ber, these  two  people  who  had  never  seen  each  other  be- 
fore, man  and  woman,  took  anxious  counsel  for  the  help  of 
an  unconscious  third,  a  complete  stranger  to  both  of 
them. 

The  night  nurse  gave  a  dose  of  morphia  according  to 
directions,  and  sat  down  on  a  low  chair  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed  watching  her  patient. 

About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  just  as  the  darkness 
was  beginning  to  thin,  she  was  startled  by  a  sound  outside. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  105 

She  half  rose,  and  saw  the  door  open  to  admit  a  tall  and 
gaunt  figure,  whom  she  recognized  as  the  master  of  the 
house. 

She  held  up  an  anxious  finger,  but  Melrose  advanced  in 
spite  of  it.  His  old  flowered  dressing-gown  and  gray 
head  came  within  the  range  of  the  night-light,  and  the 
nurse  saw  his  shadow  projected,  grotesque  and  threaten- 
ing, on  the  white  traceries  of  the  ceiling.  But  he  made  no 
sound,  and  never  looked  at  the  nurse.  He  stood  survey- 
ing young  Faversham  for  some  time,  as  he  lay  hot  and 
haggard  with  fever,  yet  sleeping  under  the  power  of  mor- 
phia. And  at  last,  without  a  word,  the  nurse  saw  her 
formidable  visitor  depart. 

Melrose  returned  to  his  own  quarters.  The  window  of 
his  room  was  open,  and  outside  the  great  mountains,  in  a 
de'v\'y  dawn,  were  begirming  to  show  purple  through  dim 
veils  of  silvery  cloud.  He  stood  still,  looking  out.  His 
mind  was  churning  like  a  yeasty  sea.  Old  facts  came  to 
the  surface;  faces  once  familiar;  the  form  and  countenance 
of  a  brother  drowned  at  twenty  in  Sandford  lasher  on  the 
Oxford  Thames;  friends  of  his  early  manhood,  riding  be- 
side him  to  hounds,  or  over  the  rolhng  green  of  the  Cam- 
pagna.  Old  instincts  long  suppressed,  yet  earher  and 
more  primitive  in  liim  than  those  of  the  huckster  and  the 
curio-hunter,  stirred  uneasily.  It  was  true  that  he  was 
getting  old,  and  had  been  too  long  alone.  He  thought 
Avith  vindictive  bitterness  of  Netta,  who  had  robbed  and 
deserted  him.  And  then,  again,  of  his  involuntary 
guest. 

The  strangest  medley  of  ideas  ran  through  his  mind. 
Self-pity;   recollections   connected   with  habits  on  which 


106  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

he  had  dehberately  turned  his  back  some  thirty  years 
before  —  the  normal  pleasures,  friendships,  occupations 
of  English  society;  fanatical  hatred  and  resentment  — 
against  two  women  in  particular,  the  first  of  whom  had,  in 
his  opinion,  deliberately  spoilt  liis  life  by  a  double  cruelty, 
while  the  second  —  his  wife  —  whom  he  had  plucked  up 
out  of  poverty,  and  the  dust-heap  of  her  disreputable  re- 
lations, had  ungratefully  and  wickedly  rebelled  against 
and  deserted  him. 

Also  —  creeping  through  all  his  thoughts,  like  a  wander- 
ing breeze  in  the  dark,  stole  again  and  again  the  chilhng 
consciousness  of  old  age  —  and  of  the  end,  waiting.  He 
was  fiercely  tenacious  of  life,  and  his  seventieth  birthday 
had  rung  a  knell  in  his  ears  that  still  sounded.  So  defiant 
was  he  of  death,  that  he  had  never  yet  brought  himself  to 
make  a  will.  He  would  not  admit  to  himself  that  he  was 
mortal;  or  make  arrangements  that  seemed  to  admit  the 
grim  fact  —  weakly  accepted  —  into  the  citadel  of  a  still 
warm  life. 

Yet  the  physical  warnings  of  old  age  had  not  been 
absent.  Some  day  he  would  feel,  perhaps  suddenly  — 
the  thought  of  it  sent  tlirough  him  a  shiver  of  impotent 
revolt  against  the  human  destiny  —  the  clutch  of  the  mas- 
ter whom  none  escapes. 

Vague  feehngs,  and  shapeless  terrors !  —  only  subter- 
raneously  connected  with  the  wounded  man  lying  in  his 
house. 

And  yet  they  were  connected.  The  advent  of  the  un- 
conscious youth  below  had  acted  on  the  ugly  stagnation 
of  the  Threlfall  life  with  a  touch  of  crystaUizing  force. 
Melrose  felt  it  in  his, own  way  no  less  than  the  Dixons. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  107 

Something  seemed  to  have  ended;  and  the  mere  change 
suggested  that  something  might  begin. 

The  sudden  shock,  indeed,  of  the  new  event,  the  mere 
interruption  of  habit,  were  serious  matters  in  the  psy- 
chology of  a  man,  with  whom  neither  brain  nor  nerves 
were  normally  attuned.  Melrose  moved  restlessly  about 
his  room  for  a  great  part  of  the  night.  He  could  not  get 
the  haggard  image  of  Faversham  out  of  his  mind;  and  he 
was  actually,  in  the  end,  tormented  by  the  thought  that, 
in  spite  of  nurses  and  doctors,  he  might  die. 

Nonsense!     One  could  get  a  specialist  from  Edinburgh 

—  from  London  if  necessary. 

And  always,  by  whatever  road,  his  thoughts  came  back 

—  as  it  were  leaping  —  to  the  gems.  Amethyst,  sar- 
donyx, crystal  —  they  twinkled  and  flashed  through  all 
the  byways  of  the  brain.  So  long  as  the  house  held  their 
owTier,  it  held  them  also.  Two  of  them  he  had  coveted 
for  years.  They  must  not  —  they  should  not  —  be  lost 
to  him  again.  By  what  ridiculous  chance  had  this  lad 
got  hold  of  them? 

With  the  morning  came  a  letter  from  a  crony  of  Mel- 
rose's in  London,  an  old  Fellow  of  the  Society  of  Anti- 
quaries, with  whom  he  had  had  not  a  few  deahngs  in  the 
past. 

"Have  you  heard  that  that  queer  fish  Mackworth  has 
left  his  whole  cabinet  of  gems  to  a  young  nephew  —  his 
sister's  son,  to  whom  they  say  he  has  been  much  attached? 
Everything  else  goes  to  the  British  Museum  and  South 
Kensington,  and  it  is  a  queer  business  to  have  left  the 
most  precious  thing  of  all  to  a  youth  who  in  all  probability 
has  neither  knowledge  nor  taste,  and  may  be  trusted  to 


108  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

turn  them  into  cash  as  soon  as  possible.  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  amethyst  Medusa?  I  could  shout  with  joy  when 
I  think  of  it!  You  will  be  wanting  to  run  the  nephew  to 
earth.  Make  haste!  —  or  Germany  or  America  will  grab 
them." 

But  the  amethyst  Medusa  lay  safe  in  her  green  case  in 
the  drawer  of  the  Riesener  table. 


DUDDON  CASTLE  in  May  was  an  agreeable  place. 
Its  park,  lying  on  the  eastern  slopes  of  the  moun- 
tain mass  which  includes  Skiddaw  and  Blen- 
cathra,  had  none  of  the  usual  monotony  of  parks,  but  was 
a  genuine  "chase,"  running  up  on  the  western  side  into  the 
heather  and  rock  of  the  mountain  where  the  deer  were  at 
home,  while  on  the  east  and  south  its  splendid  oaks  stood 
thick  in  bracken  beside  sparkling  becks,  overlooking  dells 
and  valleys  of  succulent  grass  where  the  sheep  ranged  at 
will.  The  house  consisted  of  an  early  Tudor  keep,  married 
to  a  Jacobean  house  of  rose-coloured  brick,  which  Lady 
Tatham  had  since  her  widowhood  succeeded  in  freeing  from 
the  ugly  stucco  which  had  once  disguised  and  defaced  it. 
It  could  not  claim  the  classical  charm,  the  learned  ele- 
gance of  Threlfall  Tower.  Duddon  was  romantic  —  a 
medley  of  beautiful  things,  full  of  history,  colour,  and 
time,  fused  by  the  trees  and  fern,  the  luxuriant  creepers 
and  mosses,  and  of  a  mild  and  rainy  cUmate  into  a  lovely 
irregular  whole;  with  no  outline  to  speak  of,  yet  with 
notliing  that  one  could  seriously  wish  away.  The  size 
was  great,  yet  no  one  but  an  auctioneer  could  have  called 
it  "superb";  it  seemed  indeed  to  take  a  pleasure  in  con- 
cealing the  whole  extent  of  its  clustered  building;  and  by 
the  time  you  were  aware  of  it,  you  had  fallen  in  love  with 
Duddon,  and  notliing  mattered. 

109 


110  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

But  if  without,  in  its  broad  external  features,  Duddon 
betrayed  a  romantic  freedom  in  the  minds  of  those  who 
had  planned  it,  nothing  could  have  been  more  orderly  or 
exquisite  than  its  detail,  when  detail  had  to  be  considered. 
The  Italian  garden  round  the  house  with  its  formal  masses 
of  contrasting  colour,  its  pleached  alleys,  and  pergolas, 
its  steps,  vases,  and  fountains,  was  as  good  in  its  way  as 
the  glorious  wildness  of  the  Chase.  One  might  have 
applied  to  it  the  Sophoclean  thought  —  "  How  clever  is 
man  who  can  make  all  these  things!"  —  so  diverse,  and 
so  pleasant.  And  indoors,  Duddon  was  oppressive  by  the 
very  ingenuity  of  its  refinement,  the  rightness  of  every 
touch.  No  overcrowding;  no  ostentation.  Beautiful 
spaces,  giving  room  and  dignity  to  a  few  beautiful  objects; 
famous  pictures,  yet  not  too  many;  and,  in  general,  things 
rather  suggestive  than  perfect;  sketches  —  fragments  — 
from  the  great  arts  of  the  world;  as  it  were,  a  lovely 
wreckage  from  a  vast  ocean  set  tenderly  in  a  perfect  order, 
breathing  at  once  the  greatness  and  the  eternal  defeat  of 
men. 

The  interior  beauty  of  Duddon  was  entirely  due  to 
Victoria,  Lady  Tatham,  mother  of  the  young  man  who 
now  owned  the  Tatham  estates.  She  had  created  it 
through  many  years;  she  had  been  terribly  "advised,"  in 
the  process,  by  a  number  of  clever  folk,  English  and  for- 
eign; and  the  result  alternately  pleased  and  tormented  her. 
To  be  fastidious  to  such  a  point  is  to  grow  more  so.  And 
Victoria  Tatham  was  nothing  if  not  fastidious.  She  had 
money,  taste,  patience,  yet  ennui  confronted  her  in  many 
paths;  and  except  for  the  son  she  adored  she  was  scarcely 
a  happy  woman.     She  was  personally  generous  and  soft- 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  111 

hearted,  but  all  "causes"  found  in  her  rather  a  critic  than 
a  supporter.  The  follies  of  her  own  class  were  particularly 
plain  to  her;  her  relations,  Tvnth  their  great  names,  and 
great  "places,"  seemed  to  her  often  the  most  ridiculous 
persons  in  the  world  —  a  world  no  longer  made  for  them. 
But  one  must  hasten  to  add  that  she  was  no  less  aware  of 
her  own  absurdities;  so  that  the  ironic  mind  in  her  robbed 
her  both  of  conceit  for  herself  and  enthusiasm  for  others. 

Two  or  three  days  after  the  storming  of  Threlfall  Tower, 
Lady  Tatham  came  in  from  a  mountain  ramble  at  tea- 
time,  expecting  her  son,  who  had  been  away  on  a  short 
visit.  She  entered  the  drawing-room  by  a  garden  door, 
laden  with  branches  of  hawthorn  and  wild  cheriy.  In  her 
linen  dress  and  shady  hat  she  still  looked  youthful,  and 
there  were  many  who  could  not  be  got  to  admit  that  she 
was  any  less  beautiful  than  she  had  ever  been.  These 
flatterers  of  course  belonged  to  her  own  generation;  young 
eyes  were  not  so  kind. 

Tea  had  been  brought  in,  and  she  was  busy  with  the 
arrangement  of  a  branch  of  wild  cheiTy  in  a  corner  of  the 
room  where  its  pearl  and  silver  blossoms  shone  out  against 
a  background  of  dull  purple,  when  the  door  was  hastily 
opened,  and  a  curly-haired  youth  stood  on  the  threshold 
who  smiled  at  sight  of  her. 

"You  are  here,  mother!  That's  jolly!  I  thought  I 
might  find  you  gone." 

"I  put  off  London  till  next  week.  Mind  my  hat,  you 
wretch." 

For  the  young  fellow  had  put  his  arms  round  her,  kissing 
her  heartily.  She  disengaged  herself  and  her  hat,  affect- 
ing to  scold;  but  her  eyes  betrayed  her.     She  put  up  her 


112  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

hand  and  smoothed  back  the  thick  and  tumbHng  hair  from 
his  forehead. 

"What  a  ruffian  you  look!  Where  have  you  been  all 
this  time?  " 

"  I  stopped  in  Keswick  to  do  various  things  —  and  then 
—  I  say,  shan't  we  have  some  tea?  I've  got  lots  to  tell 
you.  Well,  in  the  first  place,  mother,  I'd  better  warn  you, 
you  may  have  some  visitors  directly!" 

Lady  Tatham  opened  her  eyes,  struck  by  the  elation  of 
the  tone. 

"Strangers?" 

"Well,  nearly  —  but  I  think  you've  seen  them.  You 
know  that  lady  and  her  daughters  who  came  to  White 
Cottage  about  two  years  ago?" 

"AMrs.  Penfold?" 

"Just  so.  I  told  you  I  met  them  —  in  April,  when  you 
were  abroad  —  at  the  Hunt  Ball.  But  —  well,  really,  I've 
met  them  several  times  since.  The  Deacons  know  them." 
The  sHght  consciousness  in  the  voice  did  not  escape  his 
mother.  "You  know  you've  never  called  on  them. 
Mother,  you  are  disgraceful  about  calling!  Well,  I  met 
them  again  this  afternoon,  just  the  other  side  of  White- 
beck.  They  were  in  a  pony-carriage,  and  I  was  in  the 
motor.  It's  a  jolly  afternoon,  and  they  didn't  seem  to 
have  anything  particular  to  do,  so  I  just  asked  them  to 
come  on  here,  and  have  tea,  and  we'd  show  them  the 
place." 

"All  right,  dear.  I'll  bear  up.  Do  you  think  they'll 
come?  " 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  her  son  dubiously.  "You 
see  —  I  think  Miss  Penfold  thought  you  ought  to  have 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  113 

called  on  them  before  they  came  here!  But  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold's  a  nice  old  thing  —  she  said  they'd  come." 

"Well,  there's  plenty  of  tea,  and  I'll  go  and  call  if  you 
want  me  to." 

"How  many  years?"  laughed  Tatham.  "I  remember 
somebody  you  took  eight  years  to  call  on,  and  when  you 
got  there  you'd  forgotten  their  names." 

"  Pure  invention.  Never  mind,  sit  down  and  have  your 
tea.     How  many  daughters.?" 

"How  many  Miss  Penfolds?  Well,  there  are  two,  and 
I  danced  with  them  both.  But"  —  the  young  man  shook 
his  head  slowly  —  "I  haven't  got  any  use  for  the  elder 
one." 

"Plain.?" 

"Not  at  all  —  rather  pretty.  But  she  talks  philosophy 
and  stuff.     Not  my  sort." 

"  And  the  younger  one  doesn't  talk  philosophy.?" 

"Not  she.  She's  a  deal  too  clever.  But  she  paints  — 
like  a  bird.     I've  seen  some  of  her  things." 

"Oh!  —  so  you've  been  to  call.?" 

Lady  Tatham  hfted  her  beautiful  eyes  upon  her  son. 
Harry  Tatham  fidgeted  with  his  cup  and  spoon. 

"No.     I  was  shy,  because  you  hadn't  been.     But " 

"Harry,"  interrupted  his  mother,  her  look  all  vivacity, 
"did  she  paint  those  two  water-colours  in  your  sitting- 
room.'' 

The  boyish,  bluntly  cut  face  beside  her  broke  into  a 
charming  laugh. 

"I  bought  'em  out  of  the  Edinburgh  exhibition.  Wasn't 
it  'cute  of  me?  She  told  me  she  had  sent  them  there.  So 
I  just  wrote  to  the  secretary  and  bought  them." 


114  THE  iMATING  OF  LIDIA 

There  was  silence  a  moment.  Lady  Tatham  continued 
to  look  at  her  son.  The  eyebrows  on  her  brow,  as  they 
slowly  arched  themselves,  expressed  the  haU-amused,  half- 
startled  inquiry  she  did  not  put  into  words.  He  flushed 
scarlet,  still  smihng,  and  suddenly  he  laid  his  hand  on 
hers. 

"I  say,  mummie,  don't  tease  me,  and  don't  talk  to  me 
about  it.     There  may  be  nothing  in  it  —  nothing  at  all." 

His  mother's  face  deepened  into  gravity. 

"You  take  my  breath  away.  Remember  —  there's 
only  me,  Harry,  to  look  after  you." 

"I  know.  But  you're  not  hke  other  mothers,"  said 
the  youth  impatiently.  "You  want  me  to  be  happy  and 
please  myself.  At  least  if  you'd  wanted  the  usual  thing, 
you  should  have  brought  me  up  differently!"  He  smiled 
upon  her  again,  patting  her  hand. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  the  'usual  thing'.?" 

"Well,  family  and  money,  I  suppose.  As  if  we  hadn't 
got  enough  for  ten!" 

Lady  Tatham  hesitated. 

"One  talks  in  the  air,"  she  said,  frowning  a  little.  "I 
can't  promise  you,  Harry,  exactly  how  I  should  behave, 
if " 

"If  what.?" 

"If  you  put  me  to  the  test.''* 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can,"  he  said,  affectionately.  Then  he  got 
up  restlessly  from  the  table.  "But  don't  let's  talk  about 
it.  Somehow  I  can't  stand  it  —  yet.  I  just  wanted  you 
to  know  that  I  liked  them  —  and  I'd  be  glad  if  you'd  be 
civil  to  them  —  that's  all.  Hullo  —  here  they  are!" 
For  as  he  moved  across  the  room  he  caught  sight,  through 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  115 

a  side  window  commanding  the  park,  of  a  pony-carriage 
just  driving  into  the  wide  gravel  space  before  the  house. 

"Already?  Their  pony  must  have  seven-leagued  boots, 
to  have  caught  you  up  in  this  time." 

"Oh!  I  was  overtaken  by  Undershaw,  and  he  kept 
me  talking.  He  told  me  the  most  extraordinary  thing! 
You've  no  idea  what's  been  happening  at  the  Tower, 

That  old  brute  Melrose!     But  I  say 1"     He  made  a 

dash  across  the  room. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"I  must  go  and  put  those  pictiu-es  away,  in  case " 

A  far  door  opened  and  shut  noisily  behind  him.  He  was 
gone. 

"In  case  he  asks  her  to  go  and  see  his  sitting-room? 
This  is  all  very  surprising." 

Lady  Tatham  sat  on  at  the  tea-table,  her  chin  in  her 
hands.  It  was  quite  true  that  she  had  brought  up  her 
son  with  unconventional  ideas;  that  she  had  unconven- 
tional ideas  herseK  on  family  and  marriage.  All  the  same, 
her  mind  at  this  moment  was  in  a  most  conventional  state 
of  shock.  She  knew  it,  perceiving  quite  clearly  the  irony 
of  the  situation.  Who  were  the  Penfolds?  A  little  artist 
girl?  —  earning  her  hving  —  wuth  humble,  perhaps  hardly 
presentable  relations  —  to  mate  with  her  glorious,  golden 
Harry? — ^^  Harry  whom  half  the  ambitious  mothers  of 
England  courted  and  flattered? 

The  thought  of  defeating  the  mothers  of  England  was 
however  so  pleasant  to  her  sense  of  humour  that  she 
hurriedly  abandoned  this  line  of  reflection.  What  had  she 
been  about?  to  be  so  blind  to  Harry's  proceedings?  She 
had  been  lately  absorbed,  with  that  intensity  she  could 


116  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

still,  at  fifty,  throw  into  the  most  diverse  things,  in  a  piece 
of  new  embroidery,  reproducing  a  gorgeous  Italian  design; 
and  in  a  religious  novel  of  Fogazzaro's.  Also  she  had  been 
watching  birds,  for  hours,  with  a  spy-glass  in  the  park. 
She  said  to  herself  that  she  had  better  have  been  watching 
her  son. 

Meanwhile  she  was  quite  aware  of  the  slight  sounds 
from  the  hall  which  heralded  the  approaching  visitors. 
The  footman  threw  the  door  open;  and  she  rose. 

There  came  in,  with  hurrying  steps,  a  httle  lady  in 
widow's  dress,  her  widow's  veil  thrown  back  from  her  soft 
brown  hair  and  childish  face.  Behind  her,  a  tall  girl  in 
white,  wearing  a  shady  hat. 

The  little  lady  held  out  a  hand  —  eager  but  tremulous. 

"I  hope.  Lady  Tatham,  we  are  not  intruding,?  We 
know  it  isn't  correct  —  indeed  we  are  quite  aware  of  it  — 
that  we  should  call  upon  you  first.  But  then  we  know 
your  son  —  he  is  such  a  charming  young  man !  —  and  he 
asked  us  to  come.  I  don't  think  Lydia  wanted  to  come 
—  she  always  wants  to  do  things  properly.  No,  indeed, 
she  didn't  want  to  come.  It's  all  my  doing.  I  per- 
suaded her." 

"That  was  very  kind  of  you,"  said  Lady  Tatham  as  she 
shook  hands  first  with  the  mother,  and  then  with  the  silent 
daughter.  "Oh,  I'm  a  dreadful  neighbour.  I  confess  it 
in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  I  ought  to  have  called  upon  you 
long  ago.  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  I'm  incorrigible! 
Please  will  you  sit  down,  and  will  you  have  some  tea,? 
My  son  will  be  here  directly." 

But  instead  of  sitting  down  Mrs.  Penfold  ran  to  the 
window,  exclaiming  on  the  beauty  of  the  view,  the  garden. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  117 

the  trees,  and  the  bold  profile  of  the  old  keep,  thrown 
forward  among  the  flowers.  There  was  nothing  the  least 
distinguished  in  her  ecstasy.  But  it  flowed  and  bubbled 
with  perfect  sincerity;  and  Lady  Tatham  did  not  dislike 
it  at  all. 

"A  lady"  —  she  thought  —  "quite  a  lady,  though 
rather  a  goose.     The  daughter  is  uncomfortable." 

And  she  glanced  at  the  slightly  flushed  face  of  Lydia, 
who  followed  in  their  wake,  every  now  and  then  replying, 
as  politeness  demanded,  to  some  appeal  from  her  mother. 
It  was  indeed  clear  that  the  visit  had  been  none  of  her 
doing. 

Grace.'*  —  personality.'*  —  Lady  Tatham  divined  them, 
from  the  way  the  girl  moved,  from  the  look  in  her  gray- 
blue  eyes,  from  the  carriage  of  her  head.  She  was  certainly 
pretty,  wath  that  proud  virginal  beauty  which  often  bears 
itself  on  the  defensive,  in  our  modern  world  where  a  cer- 
tain superfluity  of  women  has  not  tended  to  chivalry. 
But  how  little  prettiness  matters,  beside  the  other  thing ! 
—  the  indefinable,  irresistible  something  —  which  gives 
the  sceptre  and  the  crown !  All  the  time  she  was  listening 
to  Mrs.  Penfold's  chatter,  and  the  daughter's  occasional 
words,  Victoria  Tatham  was  on  the  watch  for  this  some- 
thing; and  not  without  jealousy  and  a  critical  mind.  She 
had  been  taken  by  surprise;  and  she  resented  it. 

Harry  was  very  long  in  coming  back '  —  in  order  she 
supposed  to  give  her  time  to  make  acquaintance. 

But  at  last  she  had  them  at  the  tea-table,  and  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold's  adjectives  were  a  little  quenched.  Each  side  con- 
sidered the  other.  Lady  Tatham's  dress,  her  old  hat,  and 
country  shoes  attracted  Lydia,  no  less  than  the  boyish, 


118  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

open-air  look,  which  still  survived  through  all  the  signs 
of  a  complex  life  and  a  cosmopolitan  experience.  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold,  on  her  part,  thought  the  old  hat,  and  the  square-toed 
shoes  "unsuitable."  In  her  young  days  great  ladies 
"dressed"  in  the  afternoons. 

"Do  you  like  your  cottage?"  Lady  Tatliam  inquired. 

Mrs.  Penfold  replied  that  nothing  could  be  more  to  their 
taste  —  except  for  the  motors  and  the  dust. 

"Ah!  that's  my  fault,"  said  a  voice  behind  her.  "All 
motorists  are  brutes.     I  say,  it  was  jolly  of  you  to  come ! " 

So  saying,  Tatham  found  a  place  between  his  mother 
and  Mrs.  Penfold,  looking  across  at  I^ydia.  Youth,  happi- 
ness, manly  strength  came  in  with  him.  He  had  no 
features  to  speak  of  —  round  cheeks,  a  mouth  generally 
slightly  open,  and  given  to  smiling,  a  clear  brow,  a  red  and 
white  complexion,  a  babyish  chin,  thick  fair  hair,  and  a 
countenance  neither  reserved  nor  foolishly  indiscreet. 
Tatham's  physical  eminence  —  and  it  was  undisputed  — 
lay  not  in  his  plain,  good-tempered  face,  but  in  the  young 
perfection  of  his  athlete's  form.  Among  spectacles,  his 
mother,  at  least,  asked  nothing  better  than  to  see  him  on 
horseback  or  swinging  a  golf -club. 

"How  did  you  come?  —  through  the  Glendarra  woods?" 
he  asked  of  Lydia.  The  delight  in  his  eyes  as  he  turned 
them  upon  her  was  already  evident  to  his  mother. 

Lydia  assented. 

"Then  you  saw  the  rhododendrons?  Jolly,  aren't 
they?" 

Lydia  replied  with  ardour.  There  is  a  place  in  the 
Glendarra  woods,  where  the  oaks  and  firs  fall  away  to  let 
a  great  sheet  of  rhododendrons  sweep  up  from  the  lowland 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  119 

into  a  mountain  boundary  of  gray  crag  and  tumbling  fern. 
Rose-pink,  white  and  crimson,  the  waves  of  colour  roll 
among  the  rocks,  till  Cumbria  might  seem  Kashmir. 
Lydia's  looks  sparkled,  as  she  spoke  of  it.  The  artist 
in  her  had  feasted. 

"Won't  you  come  and  paint  it?"  said  Tatham  bending 
forward  eagerly.  "You'd  make  a  glorious  thing  of  it. 
Mother  could  send  a  motor  for  you  so  easily.  Couldn't 
you,  mother.''" 

"Delighted,"  said  Lady  Tatham,  rather  perfunctorily. 
"  They  are  just  in  their  glory  —  they  ought  to  be  painted." 

"Thank  you  so  much!"  —  Lydia's  tone  was  a  little 
hurried  —  "but  I  have  so  many  subjects  on  hand  just 
now." 

"Oh,  but  nothing  haK  so  beautiful  as  that,  Lydia!" 
cried  her  mother,  "or  so  uncommon.  And  they'll  be 
over  directly.  If  Lady  Tatham  would  really  send  the 
motor  for  you " 

Lydia  murmured  renewed  thanks.  Tatham,  observing 
her,  retreated,  with  a  laugh  and  a  flush. 

"I  say,  we  mustn't  bother  you  to  paint  what  we  like. 
That  would  be  too  bad." 

Lydia  smiled  upon  him. 

"I'm  so  busy  with  a  big  view  of  the  river  and  Threl- 
fall." 

"Threlfall?  Oh,  do  you  know  —  mother !  do  you  know 
what's  been  happening  at  Threlfall.  Undershaw  told 
me.  The  most  marvellous  thing!"  He  turned  to  Mrs. 
Tenfold.  "You've  heard  the  stories  they  tell  about  here 
of  old  Melrose?" 

I^ydia  laughed  softly. 


120  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"  Mother  collects  them ! " 

Mrs.  Penfold  confessed  that,  being  a  timid  person,  she 
went  in  fear,  sometimes  of  Mr.  Melrose,  sometimes  of  his 
bloodhounds.  She  did  not  like  passing  the  gate  of  Threl- 
fall,  and  the  high  wall  round  the  estate  made  her  shud- 
der. Of  course  the  person  that  put  up  that  wall  must 
be  mad. 

"A  queer  sort  of  madman!"  said  Tatham,  with  a  shrug. 
"They  say  he  gets  richer  every  year  in  spite  of  the  state 
of  the  property.  And  meanwhile  no  human  being,  except 
himself  or  the  Dixons,  has  ever  slept  in  that  house,  or 
taken  bite  or  sup  in  it  for  at  least  twenty  years.  And  as 
for  his  behaviour  to  everybody  round  about  —  well,  I  can 
tell  you  all  about  that  whenever  you  want  to  know! 
However,  now  they've  stormed  him  —  they've  smoked 
him  out  like  a  wasp's  nest.  My  goodness  —  he  did  buzz ! 
Undershaw  found  a  man  badly  hurt,  lying  on  the  road  by 
the  bridge  —  bicycle  accident  —  run  over  too,  I  believe 
—  and  carried  him  into  the  Tower,  willy-nilly!"  The 
speaker  chuckled.  "  Melrose  was  away.  Old  Dixon  said 
they  should  only  come  in  over  his  body  —  but  was  re- 
moved. Undershaw  got  four  labourers  to  help  him,  and, 
by  George,  they  carried  the  man  in!  They  found  the 
drawing-room  downstairs  empty,  no  furniture  in  it,  or 
next  to  none  —  turned  it  into  a  bedroom  in  no  time. 
Undershaw  telegraphed  for  a  couple  of  nurses  —  and  when 
Melrose  came  home  next  day  —  tableau!  There  was  a 
jolly  row!  Undershaw  enjoyed  it.  Fd  have  given  any- 
thing in  the  world  to  be  there.  And  Melrose  '11  have  to 
stick  it  out  they  say  for  weeks  and  weeks  —  the  fellow's 
so  badly  hurt  —  and " 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  121 

Lydia  interrupted  him. 

"What  did  Doctor  Undershaw  say  of  him  to-day?" 

She  bent  forward  across  the  tea-table,  speaking  ear- 
nestly. 

Tatham  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"The  report  is  better.     Had  you  heard  about  it?' 

"I  must  have  seen  him  just  before  the  accident — — " 

"Lydia!  I  never  understood,"  said  Mrs.  Penfold 
rather  bewildered. 

Lydia  explained  that  she  too  had  seen  Doctor  Under- 
shaw that  morning,  on  his  way  to  the  Tower,  in  Whitebeck 
village,  and  he  had  told  her  the  story.  She  was  par- 
ticularly interested,  because  of  the  little  meeting  by  the 
river,  which  she  described  in  a  few  words.  Twenty  min- 
utes or  so  after  her  conversation  with  the  stranger  the 
accident  must  have  happened. 

Mrs.  Penfold  meanwhile  was  thinking,  "Why  didn't 
Lydia  tell  me  all  this  on  the  drive?"  Then  she  remem- 
bered one  of  Lydia's  characteristics  —  a  kind  of  passion- 
ate reticence  about  things  that  moved  her.  Had  the 
fate  then  of  the  young  man  —  whom  she  could  only  have 
seen  for  a  few  minutes  —  touched  her  so  much? 

Lady  Tatham  had  listened  attentively  to  Lydia's 
story  —  the  inner  mind  of  her  all  the  time  closely  and 
critically  observant  of  the  story-teller,  her  beauty,  the 
manner  and  quality  of  it,  her  movements,  her  voice.  Her 
voice  particularly.  When  the  girl's  little  speech  came 
to  an  end,  Victoria  still  had  the  charm  of  it  in  her 
ears. 

"Does  any  one  know  the  man's  name?"  she  inquired. 

"I  forgot  to  ask  Undershaw,"  said  Tatham. 


122  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Lydia  supplied  the  information.  The  name  of  the 
young  man  was  Claude  Faversham.  He  seemed  to  have 
no  relations  whatever  who  could  come  and  nurse  him. 

"Claude  Faversham!"  Tatham  turned  upon  her  with 
astonishment.  "I  say!  I  know  a  Claude  Faversham. 
I  was  a  term  with  him  at  Oxford  —  at  least  if  it's  the 
same  man.     Tall.?  —  dark?  — good-looking.'* " 

Lydia  thought  the  adjectives  fitted. 

"He  had  the  most  beautiful  ring!"  she  added.  "I 
noticed  it  when  he  was  tying  up  my  easel." 

"A  ring!"  cried  Tatham,  wrinkling  up  his  forehead. 
"By  George,  that  is  odd!  I  remember  Faversham's  ring 
perfectly.  An  uncle  gave  it  him  —  an  old  Professor  at 
Oxford,  who  used  to  collect  things.  My  tutor  sent  me  to 
a  lecture  once,  when  I  was  in  for  schools.  Mackworth  — 
that  was  the  old  boy's  name  —  was  lecturing,  and  Faver- 
sham came  down  to  help  him  show  his  cases.  Faver- 
sham's own  ring  was  supposed  to  be  something  special, 
and  Mackworth  talked  no  end  about  it.  Goodness !  — 
so  that's  the  man.  Of  course  I  must  go  and  see  him! 
—  ask  after  him  anyway." 

But  the  tone  had  grown  suddenly  dubious.  Lady 
Tatham's  eyebrows  rose  shghtly. 

"GotoThrelfall,  Harry.?" 

"Well,  not  to  call  on  Melrose,  mother!  I  should  have 
to  make  sure  he  was  out  of  the  way.  But  I  feel  as  if  I 
ought  to  do  something  about  Faversham.  The  fact  is 
he  did  me  a  great  kindness  my  first  term  at  Oxford  — 
he  got  me  into  a  little  club  I  wanted  to  belong  to." 

"Oh,  but  yo^^  could  belong  to  any  club  you  wished!" 
cried  Mrs.  Penfold. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  123 

Tatham  laughed  and  coloured.  Lady  Tatham  slipped 
the  slightest  look  at  Lydia. 

"Not  at  all,  Faversham  was  awfully  useful.  I  must 
see  what  can  be  done.     He  can't  stay  on  at  that  place." 

"You  never  go  to  Threlfall.'*"  Mrs.  Penfold  addressed 
her  hostess. 

"Never,"  said  Lady  Tatham  quietly.  "Mr.  Melrose 
is  impossible." 

"I  should  jolly  well  think  he  is!"  said  Tatham;  "the 
most  grasping  and  tyrannical  old  villain!  He's  got  a 
business  on  now  of  the  most  abominable  kind.  I  have 
been  hearing  the  whole  story  this  week.  A  man  who 
dared  to  county  court  him  for  some  perfectly  just  claim. 
And  Melrose  in  revenge  has  simply  ruined  him.  Then 
there's  a  right  of  way  dispute  going  on  —  scandalous !  — 
nothing  to  do  with  me!  —  but  I'm  helping  other  people  to 
fight  him.  And  his  cottages!  —  you  never  saw  such  pig- 
sties! He's  defied  every  sort  of  inspector,  I  believe 
everybody's  afraid  of  him.  And  you  can't  get  a  yard  of 
land  out  of  him  for  any  public  purpose  whatever.  Well, 
now  that  I'm  on  the  County  Council,  I  mean  to  go  for 
him!  " 

The  young  man  sprang  up,  apparently  to  fetch  ciga- 
rettes, really  that  he  might  once  more  obtain  a  full  view 
of  Lydia,  who  had  moved  from  the  tea-table  to  a  more 
distant  seat, 

Mrs,  Penfold  waved  the  silver  box  aside.  "I  never 
learnt"  —  she  said,  adding  with  soft,  upturned  eyes  — 
confidingly  —  "sometimes  I  wish  I  did.     Oh,  Lydia  will! " 

And  Lydia,  following  Lady  Tatham's  lead,  quietly  lit 
up.     Tatham  who  cherished  some  rather  strict  and  old- 


124  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

fashioned  notions  about  women,  very  imperfectly  re- 
vealed even  to  his  mother,  was  momentarily  displeased; 
then  lost  himself  in  the  pleasure  of  watching  a  white  hand 
and  arm  —  for  the  day  was  hot  and  sleeves  short  —  in  new 
positions. 

Lady  Tatham  looked  round  in  answer  to  her  son's  last 
words. 

"I  wish,  Harr3%  you'd  leave  him  alone." 

"Who?  Melrose?  Mother!  Oh,  I  forgot  —  he's  a  sort 
of  cousin,  isn't  he?" 

"My  second  cousin." 

"Worse  luck!  But  that's  nothing,  unless  one  chooses 
it  shall  be.  I  believe,  mother,  you  know  a  heap  of  things 
about  Melrose  you've  never  told  me!" 

Lady  Tatham  smiled  faintly,  but  did  not  reply.  Whereat 
Mrs.  Penfold  whose  curiosity  was  insatiable,  within  lady- 
hke  bounds,  tried  to  ask  questions  of  her  hostess.  A 
wife?     Surely  there  had  been  a  wife? 

"Certainly  —  twenty  years  ago.  I  saw  her."  The 
answer  came  readily. 

"She  ran  away?" 

"Not  in  the  usual  sense.  There  was  no  one,  I  under- 
stand, to  run  with.  But  she  could  not  stand  ThreKall  — 
nor  —  I  suppose  —  her  husband.  So  one  day  —  when 
he  had  gone  to  Italy,  and  she  was  left  behind  —  she 
just " 

" '  Elopes  —  down  a  ladder  of  ropes  '  "  laughed  Tatham; 
"and  took  the  child?" 

"  Yes  —  and  a  bronze,  worth  a  thousand  pounds." 

"Sensible  woman!     And  where  are  they  now?" 

Lady  Tatham  shrugged  her  shoulders. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  125 

"Oh,  they  can't  be  aUve,  surely,"  said  Lydia.  "Mr. 
Meh-ose  told  Doctor  Undershaw  that  he  had  no  relations 
in  the  world,  and  didn't  wish  to  be  troubled  with  any." 

Contempt  sat  on  Tatham's  ruddy  countenance. 

"Well,  as  far  as  we're  concerned,  he  may  take  it  easy. 
His  family  affections  don't  matter  to  anybody!  But  the 
way  he  behaves  as  a  landowner  does  really  matter  to  all 
of  us.     He  brings  disgrace  on  the  whole  show." 

He  rose,  straightening  his  young  shoulders  as  he  spoke. 
Lydia  noted  the  modest  involuntary  consciousness  of 
power  and  responsibility  which  for  a  moment  dignified 
the  boyish  countenance;  and  as  her  eyes  met  his  Tatham 
was  startled  by  the  passionate  approval  expressed  in  the 
girl's  look. 

She  asked  if  there  was  no  agent  on  the  Melrose  estates 
to  temper  the  tyrannies  of  their  master. 

Tatham  came  to  her  side  —  explaining  —  looking  down 
upon  her  with  an  eagerness  which  had  but  a  superficial 
connection  with  the  thing  said. 

"You  see  no  decent  man  would  ever  stay  with  him. 
He'd  never  do  the  things  Melrose  does.  He'd  cut  his 
hand  off  first.  And  if  he  didn't,  the  old  villain  would  kick 
him  out  in  no  time.  But  that's  enough  about  him,  isn't 
it?  I  get  him  on  the  brain!  Won't  you  come  and  see  the 
pictures.''" 

The  quartet  inspecting  the  house  had  passed  through 
the  principal  rooms,  and  had  returned  to  the  drawing- 
room.  There  Tatham  said  something  to  Lydia,  and  they 
moved  away  together.  His  mother  looked  after  them. 
Tatham    was    leading  the  way  toward  the  door  in  the 


126  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

farther  wall  which  led  to  his  own  sitting-room.  Their 
young  faces  were  turned  toward  each  other.  The  girl's 
shyness  seemed  to  have  broken  up.  She  was  now  talking 
fast,  with  smiles.  Ah,  no  doubt  they  would  have  plenty 
to  say  to  each  other,  as  soon  as  they  were  together. 

It  was  one  of  the  bitter-sweet  moments  of  life.  Lady 
Tatham  steadied  herself. 

"That  is  a  sketch,"  she  said  mechanically,  "by  Burne- 
Jones,  for  one  of  the  Pygmalion  and  Galatea  series.  We 
have  one  or  two  others  on  the  same  subject." 

Mrs.  Penfold  clasped  her  small  hands  in  rapture. 

"Oh!  but  how  interesting!  Do  you  know  I  was  once 
Galatea.'^  When  I  was  a  girl  I  used  to  act  a  great  deal. 
Well,  not  act  exactly  —  for  I  didn't  have  to  speak.  I 
never  could  remember  my  lines.  But  I  had  two  great 
parts.  There  was  Hermione,  in  '  The  Winter's  Tale';  and 
Galatea.  I  made  hundreds  of  pounds  for  hospitals  —  hun- 
dreds. It's  not  vain  now,  is  it,  to  say  one  was  pretty  in 
one's  youth.?" 

"You  like  remembering  it.-*     Some  people  don't." 

"Ah,  no,  that's  wrong !  I'd  liked  to  have  been  beautiful 
once,  if  I'm  old  and  ugly  now,"  cried  Mrs.  Penfold  with 
fervour.     "Of  course"  —  she  looked  shyly  at  the  sketch 

—  "I  had  beautiful  draperies  on.  My  Galatea  was  not 
like  that." 

"Draperies.''"  Lady  Tatham  laughed.  "Pygmalion 
had  only  just  made  her  —  there  had  been  no  time  to  dress 
her." 

''We  dressed  her,"  said  Mrs.  Penfold  decidedly,  "from 
top  to  toe.     Some  day  I  nmst  show  you  the  drawings  of  it 

—  it's  not  like  that  at  all.      The  girls  think  I'm  silly  to 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  127 

talk  of  it  —  oh!  they  don't  say  it  —  they're  very  good  to 
me.  But  I  can  see  they  do.  Only  —  they've  so  many 
things  to  be  proud  of.  Susy's  so  clever  —  she  knows 
Greek  and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  And  Lydia's  drawing^ 
is  so  wonderful.  Do  you  know  she  has  made  twenty 
pounds  out  of  her  sketches  this  week!" 

"Capital!"  said  Lady  Tatham  smiling. 

"Ah,  it  means  a  great  deal  to  us!  You  see"  —  Mrs. 
Penfold  looked  round  her  —  "when  you're  very  rich,  and 
have  everything  you  want,  you  can't  understand  —  at 
least  I  don't  think  you  can  —  how  it  feels  to  have  twenty 
pounds  you  don't  expect.  Lydia  just  danced  about  the 
room.  And  I'm  to  have  a  new  best  dress  —  she  insists  on 
it.  Well,  you  see"  —  the  httle  pink  and  white  face  of  the 
speaker  broke  into  smiles  —  "that's  all  so  amusing.  It 
puts  one  in  good  spirits.  It's  just  as  though  one  were  rich, 
and  made  a  thousand  pounds.  I  daresay"  —  she  looked, 
awestruck,  at  the  Burne-Jones  sketch  —  "that's  worth 
our  whole  income.  But  we're  very  happy.  We  never  fret. 
Lydia  and  Susy  both  help  in  the  housework.  And  I  make 
their  blouses." 

"How  clever  of  you!  That's  a  Fra  Angelico"  —  said 
Lady  Tatham  pointing,  and  not  knowing  what  to  do  with 
these  confidences  —  "an  Annunciation." 

Mrs.  Penfold  thought  it  quite  lovely.  Lydia,  when  she 
was  studying  in  London,  had  copied  one  like  it  in  the 
National  Gallery.  And  her  poor  father  had  liked  it  so. 
As  they  wandered  on  through  the  pictures,  indeed.  Lady 
Tatham  soon  came  to  know  a  great  deal  about  Lydia's 
"poor  father"  —  that  he  had  been  a  naval  officer,  a  Cap- 
tain Penfold,  who  had  had  to  retire  early  on  half-pay  be- 


128  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

cause  of  ill-health,  and  had  died  just  as  the  girls  had  grown 
up.  "He  felt  it  so  —  he  was  so  proud  of  them —  but 
he  always  said,  '  If  one  of  us  is  to  go,  why,  it  had  better  be 
me,  Rosina  —  because  you  have  such  spirits  —  you're  so 
cheerful.'     And  I  am.     I  can't  help  it." 

It  was  all  sincere.  There  was  neither  snobbishness  nor 
affectation  in  the  little  widow,  even  when  she  prattled 
most  embarrassingly  about  her  own  affairs,  or  stood 
frankly  wondering  at  the  Tatham  wealth.  But  no  one 
could  deny  it  was  untutored.  Lady  Tatham  thought  of 
all  the  Honourable  Johns,  and  Geralds,  and  Barbaras  on 
the  Tatham  side  —  Harry's  uncles  and  cousins  —  and  the 
various  magnificent  people,  ranging  up  to  royalty,  on  her 
own;  and  envisaged  the  moment  when  Mrs.  Penfold  should 
look  them  all  in  the  face,  with  her  pretty,  foohsh  eyes,  and 
her  chatter  about  Lydia's  earnings  and  Lydia's  blouses. 
And  not  all  the  inward  laughter  which  the  notion  pro- 
voked in  one  to  whom  life  was  largely  comedy,  in  the 
Meredithian  sense,  could  blind  her  to  the  fact  that  the 
shock  would  be  severe. 

Had  she  really  injured  the  prospects  of  her  boy  by  the 
way  —  the  romantic,  idealist  way  —  in  which  she  had 
brought  him  up.  Her  Harry !  —  with  whom  she  had  read 
poetry,  and  talked  of  heroes,  into  whose  ears  she  had 
poured  Ruskin  and  Carlyle  from  his  youth  up;  who  was  the 
friend  and  comrade  of  all  the  country  folk,  because  of  a 
certain  irrepressible  interest  in  his  kind,  a  certain  selfless- 
ness that  were  his  cradle  gifts;  who  shared  in  his  boyish 
way,  her  own  amused  contempt  for  shams  and  shows  — 
had  she,  after  all,  been  training  him  for  a  mistake  in  the 
most  serious  step  of  life? 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  129 

For,  like  it  or  despise  it,  English  society  was  there,  and 
he  must  fill  his  place  in  it.  And  things  are  seemly  and 
unseemly,  fitting  and  unfitting  —  as  well  as  good  and  bad. 
This  inexperienced  girl,  with  her  prettiness,  and  her  art, 
and  her  small  world  —  was  it  fair  to  her?  Is  there  not 
something  in  the  unconscious  training  of  birth  and  posi- 
tion, when,  bon  gre,  mat  gre,  there  is  a  big  part  in  the 
world's  social  business  to  be  played? 

And  meanwhile,  with  a  fraction  of  her  mind,  she  went  on 
talking  "Raphaels,  Correggios,  and  stufiF."  She  did  the 
honours  of  half  their  possessions.  Then  it  suddenly 
seemed  to  her  that  the  time  was  long,  and  she  led  the  way 
back  once  more  to  the  drawing-room,  in  a  rather  formi- 
dable silence,  of  which  even  her  cheerful  companion  be- 
came aware. 

But  as  they  entered  the  room,  the  door  at  the  farther 
end  opened  again,  and  Tatham  and  Lydia  emerged. 

Good  heavens !  —  had  he  been  proposing  already?  But 
a  glance  dispelled  the  notion.  Lydia  was  laughing  as  they 
came  in,  and  a  little  flushed,  as  though  with  argument.  It 
seemed -to  his  mother  that  Harry's  look,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  overcast.  Had  the  girl  been  trampling  on  him? 
Impossible!  In  any  case,  there  was  no  denying  the  quiet 
ease,  the  complete  self-possession,  with  which  the  "inex- 
perienced" one  moved  through  Harry's  domain,  and  took 
leave  of  Harry's  mother.  Your  modern  girl?  —  of  the 
intellectual  sort  —  quite  unmoved  by  gewgaws!      Minx! 

Harry  saw  the  two  ladies  into  their  pony-carriage. 
When  he  returned  to  his  mother,  it  was  with  an  absent 
brow.     He  went  to  the  window  and  stood  softly  whistling, 


130  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  Lady  Tatham  waited  a 
little,  then  went  up  to  him,  and  took  him  by  the  arms  — 
her  eyes  smiling  into  his,  without  a  word. 

He  disengaged  himself,  almost  roughly. 

"I  wish  I  knew  something  about  art!"  he  said  dis- 
contentedly. "And  why  should  anybody  want  to 
be  independent  all  their  lives  —  economically  inde- 
pendent.'*" 

He  slowly  repeated  the  words,  evidently  from  another 
mouth,  in  a  kind  of  wonder. 

"That's  the  young  woman  of  to-day,  Harry." 

"Isn't  it  better  to  be  happy?"  he  broke  out,  and  then 
was  silent. 

"Harry!  —  you  didn't  propose  to  her?" 

He  laughed  out. 

"Propose  to  her!  As  if  I  dare!  I  haven't  even  made 
friends  with  her  yet  —  though  I  thought  I  had.  She 
talks  of  things  I  don't  understand." 

"Not  philosophy  and  stuff?" 

"Lord,  no!"  he  said,  shrugging  his  shoulders.     "It's 

much   worse.     It's   as   though   she   despised "     He 

paused  again. 

"Courting?"  said  his  mother  at  last,  her  head  against 
his  shoulder. 

"  Well,  anything  of  that  sort,  in  comparison  with  art  — 
and  making  a  career  —  and  earning  money  —  and  things 
of  that  kind.     Oh,  I  daresay  I'm  a  stupid  ass! " 

Lady  Tatham  laughed  softly. 

"You  can  buy  all  her  pictures,  Harry." 

"I  don't  believe  she'd  like  it  a  bit,  if  she  knew!"  he 
said,  gloomily. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  131 

The  young  man's  chagrin  and  bewilderment  were  evi- 
dent.    His  mother  could  only  guess  at  the  causes. 

"How  long  have  you  known  her,  Harry.'*" 

"Just  two  months." 

Lady  Tatham  took  him  again  by  the  shoulders,  and 
looked  into  his  face. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?  Do  you  want  her?" 
she  asked  slowly. 

"Yes  —  but  I  shall  never  get  her,"  was  the  half  desper- 
ate reply. 

"Pooh!"  she  said,  releasing  him,  after  she  had  kissed 
him.     "We  shall  see." 

And  straightway,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  as  it  were, 
she  dismissed  all  thought  of  the  Honourable  Johns  and 
Geralds.  Mrs.  Penfold  and  her  chatter  sank  out  of  sight 
and  hearing.  She  was  her  son's  champion  —  against  the 
world. 


VI 

IT  WAS  the  tenth  day  since  the  evening  when  Claude 
Faversham  had  been  carried  unconscious  into  Threl- 
fall  Tower,  and  the  first  one  which  anj^thing  like 
clearness  of  mind  had  returned  to  him.  Before  that  there 
had  been  passing  gleams  and  perceptions,  soon  lost  again 
in  the  delusions  of  fever,  or  narcotic  sleep.  A  big  room 
— strange  faces  —  pain  —  a  doctor  coming  and  going  — 
intervals  of  misery  following  intervals  of  nothingness  ■ — 
helplessness  —  intolerable  oppression  —  horrible  struggles 
with  food  —  horrible  fear  of  being  touched  —  gradually, 
little  by  little,  these  ideas  had  emerged  in  consciousness. 
Then  had  followed  the  first  moments  of  relief  —  in- 
credibly sweet  —  but  fugitive,  soon  swallowed  up  in 
returning  discomfort;  yet  lengthening,  deepening,  passing 
by  degrees  into  a  new  and  tremulous  sense  of  security 
of  a  point  gained  and  passed.  And  at  last  on  this  tenth 
morning  —  a  still  and  cloudy  morning  of  early  June,  he 
found  himself  suddenly  fully  awake,  and  as  it  seemed  to 
him  once  more  in  possession  of  himself.  A  dull,  dumb 
anguish  lay  behind  him,  already  half  effaced;  and  the 
words  of  a  psalm  familiar  at  school  and  college  ran  idly 
through  his  mind:  "My  soul  hath  escaped  as  a  bird  out 
of  the  snare  of  the  fowler." 

"Where  am  I?"     Not  in  a  hospital.     Hospital  ceilings 
are  not  adorned  with  wreaths  and  festoons  in  raised  stucco, 

132 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  133 

or  with  medallion  groups  of  winged  children  playing  with 
torches,  or  bows  and  arrows. 

"I  have  a  gem  hke  that  one,"  he  thought,  sleepily. 
"A  genius  with  a  torch." 

Then  for  a  long  time  he  was  only  vaguely  conscious  of 
more  light  than  usual  in  the  room  —  of  an  open  window 
somewhere  —  of  rustling  leaves  outside  —  and  of  a  chaf- 
finch singing.     .     .     . 

Another  couple  of  days  passed,  and  he  began  to  question 
the  kind  woman  whom  he  had  come  to  regard  as  a  sort 
of  strong,  protective  force  between  him  and  anguish, 
without  any  desire  to  give  it  a  name,  or  realize  an  in- 
dividual. But  now  he  saw  that  he  had  been  nursed  by 
hands  as  refined  as  they  were  skilful,  and  he  dimly  per- 
ceived that  he  owed  his  life  mainly  to  the  wholly  imper- 
sonal yet  absorbed  devotion  of  two  women  —  gentle, 
firm-faced,  women  —  who  had  fought  death  for  him  and 
won.  Just  a  professional  service  for  a  professional  fee; 
yet  his  debt  was  measureless.  These  are  the  things,  he 
feebly  understood,  that  women  do  for  men;  and  what  had 
been  mere  hearsay  to  his  strong  manhood  had  become 
experience. 

Actually  a  ray  of  sunshine  had  been  allowed  to  penetrate 
the  shaded  room.  He  watched  it  enchanted.  Flowers 
were  on  the  table  near  him.  There  was  a  delicious  sense 
of  warmth  and  summer  scents. 

"Where  am  I?"  He  turned  his  bandaged  head  stiffly 
toward  the  nurse  beside  him. 

"In  Threlfall  Tower  — the  house  of  Mr.  Edmund 
Melrose,"  she  said,  bending  over  him. 

The  nurse  saw  him  smile. 


134  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"That's  queer.     What  happened?" 

His  companion  gave  him  a  short  account  of  the  accident 
and  ofUndershaw's  handhng  of  it.  Then  she  refused  to 
let  her  patient  talk  any  more,  and  left  him  with  instruc- 
tions not  to  tire  his  head  with  trying  to  remember.  He 
lay  disconnectedly  dreaming.  A  stream  of  clear  water, 
running  shallow  over  greenish  pebbles  and  among  stones, 
large  and  small  —  and  some  white  things  floating  on  it. 
The  recollection  teased  him,  and  a  shght  headache  warned 
him  to  put  it  aside.     He  tried  to  go  to  sleep. 

Suddenly,  there  floated  into  view  a  face  vaguely  seen, 
a  girl's  figure,  in  a  blue  dress,  against  a  background  of 
mountain.     Who  was  it.^* —  where  had  he  come  across  her? 

A  few  days  later,  when,  for  the  first  time,  he  was  sitting 
up  raised  on  pillows,  and  had  been  allowed  to  lift  a  shak- 
ing hand  to  help  the  nurse's  hand  as  it  guided  a  cup  of 
soup  to  his  lips,  she  said  to  him  in  her  low,  pleasant 
voice : 

"Several  people  have  been  to  inquire  for  you  to-day. 
I'll  bring  you  the  cards." 

She  fetched  them  from  a  table  near  and  read  the  names. 
"Lord  Tatham,  and  his  mother,  Lady  Tatham.  They've 
sent  you  flowers  every  day.  These  are  Duddon  roses." 
She  held  up  a  glass  vase  before  him.  "  Mrs.  Penfold  and 
Miss  Penfold." 

He  shook  his  head  feebly. 

"Don't  know  any  of  them." 

Nurse  Aston  laughed  at  him. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  Lord  Tatham  was  at  college  with 
you.  He's  coming  to  see  you  one  day  soon.  And  Miss 
Penfold  saw  you  just  before  the  accident.     She  was  sketch- 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  135 

ing  in  St.  John's  Vale,  and  you  helped  her  fish  something 
out  of  the  water." 

"By  Jove! — so  I  did,"  he  said,  slowly.  "Tatham?" 
He  pondered.  "Tell  Lady  Tatham  I'm  much  obliged  to 
her." 

And  he  went  to  sleep  again. 

The  next  time  he  woke,  he  saw  an  unfamiliar  figure 
sitting  beside  him.  His  hold  upon  himself  seemed  to  have 
grown  much  stronger.  It  was  evening,  and  though  the 
windows  were  still  wide  open  a  lamp  had  been  lit. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Melrose?"  he  asked,  amazed  at  the 
clearness  of  his  own  voice. 

A  gray-haired  man  moved  his  chair  nearer. 

"That's  all  right.  You'll  soon  be  well  now.  Do  you 
feel  much  better?" 

"I  —  I  feel  nearly  well.     How  long  have  I  been  here?'* 

"About  three  weeks." 

"I  say  —  that's  a  nuisance!  I'm  very  sorry  to  put  you 
to  inconvenience." 

"Wasn't  your  fault.  It  was  the  doctor  who  brought 
you  here."  The  tone  of  the  words  was  round  and  master- 
ful.    "Are  you  comfortable?     Have  you  all  you  want?" 

"Everything.  The  nurses  are  Al.  I  say  —  has  some 
one  written  to  my  uncle?  " 

"Undershaw  wrote  to  a  Mr.  George  Faversham  last 
week.  He  was  ill  with  rheumatic  gout,  couldn't  come. 
Is  that  the  uncle  you  mean?" 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"He's  the  only  relation  I've  got.  The  other  one  died. 
HuUo!" 

He  made  a  sudden  movement.     His  hand  slipped  into 


136  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

his  breast  and  found  nothing.     He  raised  himself  in  bed, 
with  a  frowning  brow. 

"I  say!" — he  looked  urgently  at  Melrose.  "Where 
are  my  gems? —  and  my  ring?" 

"Don't  trouble  yourself.  They  were  brought  to  me. 
I  have  them  locked  up." 

Faversham's  expression  relaxed.  He  let  himself  shde 
down  upon  his  pillows. 

"By  George!—  if  I'd  lost  them." 

IVIelrose  studied  him  closely. 

"They're  all  right.     Whsit  do  you  know  about  gems?" 

"Only  what  Uncle  Mackworth  taught  me.  We  were 
great  pals.  He  was  my  guardian.  I  hved  with  him  in 
the  hoUdays  after  my  parents  died.  I  knew  all  his  gems. 
And  now  he's  left  them  to  me." 

"Where  are  the  rest?" 

"I  left  the  cabinet  in  charge  of  a  man  I  know  at  the 
British  Museum.  He  promised  to  lock  it  up  in  one  of 
their  strong  rooms.  But  those  six  I  always  carry  with 
me." 

Melrose  laughed. 

"But  those  are  just  the  six  that  should  have  been 
locked  up.     They  are  worth  all  the  rest." 

The  young  man  slowly  turned  his  head. 

"  Did  you  know  my  Uncle  Mackworth?  " 

"Certainly.  And  I  too  knew  all  his  gems.  I  could 
tell  you  the  histories  of  those  six,  anyway,  for  generations. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  a  fool  of  an  agent  of  mine,  your  uncle 
would  never  have  had  the  Arconati  Bacchus." 

Faversham  was  silent  —  evidently  trying  to  feel  his  way 
through  some  induction  of  thought.      But  he  gave  it  up 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  137 

as  too  much  for  him,  and  merely  said  —  nervously  — 
with  the  sudden  flush  of  weakness  : 

"  I'm  afraid  you've  been  put  to  great  expense,  sir.  But 
it's  all  right.  As  soon  as  they'll  let  me  sign  a  check,  I'll 
pay  my  debts." 

"Good  gracious,  don't  trouble  your  head  about  that!" 
said  Melrose  rising.  "This  house  is  at  your  disposal. 
Undershaw  I  daresay  will  tell  you  tales  of  me.  Take  'em 
with  a  grain  of  salt.  He'll  tell  you  I'm  mad,  and  I  dare- 
say I  am.  I'm  a  hermit  anyway,  and  I  like  my  own 
society.  But  you're  welcome  here,  as  long  as  you've  any 
reason  to  stay.  I  should  like  you  to  know  that  I  do  not 
regard  Mackworth's  nephew  as  a  stranger." 

The  studied  amiabihty  of  these  remarks  struck  Faver- 
sham  as  surprising,  he  hardly  knew  why.  Suddenly,  a 
phrase  emerged  in  memory. 

"Every  one  about  here  calls  him  the  Ogre." 

The  girl  by  the  river  —  was  it?  He  could  not  remem- 
ber. Why ! —  the  Ogre  was  tame  enough.  But  the 
conversation  —  the  longest  he  had  yet  held  —  had  ex- 
hausted him.     He  turned  on  his  side,  and  shut  his  eyes. 

Then  gradually,  day  by  day,  he  came  to  understand 
the  externals,  at  any  rate,  of  the  situation.  Undershaw 
gave  him  a  guarded,  though  still  graphic,  account  of  how, 
as  unconscious  as  the  dead  Cid  strapped  on  his  warhorse, 
he  and  his  bodyguard  had  stormed  the  Tower.  The  jests 
of  the  nurse,  as  to  the  practical  difficulties  of  living  in 
such  a  house,  enlightened  him  further.  Melrose,  it  ap- 
peared, lived  like  a  peasant,  and  spent  like  a  peasant. 
They  brought  him  tales  of  the  locked  rooms,  of  the  pas- 


138  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

sages  huddled  and  obstructed  with  bric-a-brac,  of  the 
standing  feuds  between  Melrose  and  his  tenants.  None 
of  the  ordinary  comforts  of  life  existed  in  the  Tower, 
except  indeed  a  vast  warming  apparatus  which  kept  it 
hke  an  oven  in  winter;  the  only  personal  expenditure,  be- 
yond bare  necessaries,  that  Melrose  allowed  himself.  Yet 
it  was  commonly  believed  that  he  was  enormously  rich, 
and  that  he  still  spent  enormously  on  his  collections. 
Undershaw  had  attended  a  London  stockbroker  staying  in 
one  of  the  Keswick  hotels,  who  had  told  him,  for  instance, 
that  Melrose  was  well  known  to  the  "House"  as  one  of 
the  largest  holders  of  Argentine  stock  in  the  world,  and  as 
having  made  also  immense  sums  out  of  Canadian  land 
and  railways.  "The  sharpest  old  fox  going,"  said  the 
Londoner,  himself,  according  to  Undershaw,  no  feeble 
specimen  of  the  money-making  tribe.  "His  death  duties 
will  be  worth  raking  in!" 

Occasional  gossip  of  this,  or  a  more  damaging  kind, 
enlivened  convalescence.  Undershaw  and  the  nurses  had 
no  motives  for  reticence.  Melrose  treated  them  uncivilly 
throughout;  and  Undershaw  knew  very  well  that  he 
should  never  be  forgiven  the  forcing  of  the  house.  And 
as  he,  the  nurses,  and  the  Dixons  were  firmly  convinced 
that  for  every  farthing  of  the  accommodation  supplied 
him  Faversham  would  ultimately  have  to  pay  handsomely, 
there  seemed  to  be  no  particular  call  for  gratitude,  or  for 
a  forbearance  based  upon  it. 

Meanwhile  Faversham  himself  did  not  find  the  char- 
acter and  intentions  of  his  host  so  easy  to  understand. 
Although  very  weak,  and  with  certain  serious  symptoms 
still  persisting  to  worry  the  minds  of  doctor  and  nurse. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  139 

he  was  now  regularly  dressed  of  an  afternoon,  and  would 
sit  in  a  large  armchair  —  which  had  had  to  be  hired  from 
Keswick  —  by  one  of  the  windows  looking  out  on  the 
courtyard.  Punctually  at  tea-time  Melrose  appeared. 
And  there  was  no  denying  that  in  general  he  proved  him- 
self an  agreeable  companion  —  a  surprisingly  agreeable 
companion.  He  would  come  slouching  in,  wearing  the 
shabbiest  clothes,  and  a  black  skullcap  on  his  flowing 
gray  hair;  looking  one  moment  like  the  traditional  doctor 
of  the  Italian  puppet-play,  gaunt,  long-fingered,  long- 
featured,  his  thin,  pallid  face  a  study  in  gray  amid  its 
black  surroundings;  and  the  next,  playing  the  man  of 
family  and  cosmopolitan  travel,  that  he  actually  was. 
Faversham  indeed  began  before  long  to  find  a  curious 
attraction  in  his  society.  There  was  flattery,  moreover, 
in  the  fact  that  nobody  else  in  living  memory  had  Melrose 
ever  been  known  to  pay  anything  like  the  attention  he 
was  now  daily  devoting  to  his  invalid  guest.  The  few 
inmates  and  visitors  of  the  Tower,  permanent  and  tem- 
porary, became  gradually  aware  of  it.  They  were  as- 
tonished, but  none  the  less  certain  that  Melrose  had  only 
modified  his  attitude  for  some  selfish  reason  of  his  own 
which  would  appear  in  due  time. 

The  curious  fact,  however,  emerged,  after  a  while,  that 
between  the  two  men,  so  diverse  in  age,  history,  and  cir- 
cumstance, there  was  a  surprising  amount  in  common. 
Faversham,  in  spite  of  his  look  of  youth,  much  impaired 
for  the  present  by  the  results  of  his  accident,  was  not  so 
very  young;  he  had  just  passed  his  thirtieth  birthday,  and 
Melrose  soon  discovered  that  he  had  seen  a  good  deal  both 
of  the  natural  and  the  human  worlds.     He  was  the  son,  it 


140  THE  JVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

seemed,  of  an  Indian  Civil  Servant,  and  had  inherited 
from  his  parents,  who  were  both  dead,  an  income  —  so 
Meh"ose  shrewdly  gathered  from  various  indications  — 
just  sufficient  to  keep  him;  whereby  a  will,  ambitious 
rather  than  strong,  had  been  able  to  have  its  way.  He 
had  dabbled  in  many  things,  journahsm,  law,  politics;  had 
travelled  a  good  deal;  and  was  now  apparently  tired  of 
miscellaneous  living,  and  looking  out  discontentedly  for 
an  opening  in  life  —  not  of  the  common  sort  —  that  was 
somewhat  long  in  presenting  itself.  He  seemed  to  have 
a  good  many  friends  and  acquaintances,  but  not  any  of 
overmastering  importance  to  him;  his  intellectual  powers 
were  evidently  considerable,  but  not  working  to  any  great 
advantage  either  for  himself  or  society. 

Altogether  an  attractive,  handsome,  restless  fellow; 
persuaded  that  he  was  destined  to  high  things,  hungry  for 
them,  yet  not  seeing  how  to  achie^^e  them;  hungry  for 
money  also  —  probably  as  the  only  possible  means  of 
achieving  them  —  and  determined,  meanwhile,  not  to 
accept  any  second  best  he  could  help.  It  was  so,  at  least 
—  from  the  cynical  point  of  view  of  an  observer  who 
never  wasted  time  on  any  other  —  that  Melrose  read  him. 

Incidentally  he  discovered  that  Faversham  was  well 
acquainted  with  the  general  lines  and  procedure  of  modern 
financial  speculation,  was  in  fact  better  versed  in  the 
jargon  and  gossip  of  the  Stock  Exchange  than  Melrose 
himself;  and  had  made  use  now  and  then  of  the  large 
amount  of  information  and  the  considerable  number  of 
usef  id  acquaintances  he  possessed  to  speculate  cautiously 
on  his  own  account  —  without  much  result,  but  without 
disaster.     Also  it  was  very  soon  clear  that,  independently 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  141 

of  his  special  reasons  for  knowing  something  about  en- 
graved gems  and  their  value,  he  had  been,  through  his 
Oxford  uncle,  much  brought  across  collectors  and  collect- 
ing. He  could,  more  or  less,  talk  the  language  of  the 
tribe,  and  indeed  his  mere  possession  of  the  famous  gems 
had  made  him,  willy-nilly,  a  member  of  it. 

So  that,  for  the  first  time  in  twenty  years,  Melrose 
found  himself  provided  with  a  listener,  and  a  spectator 
who  neither  wanted  to  buy  from  him  nor  sell  to  him. 
When  a  couple  of  vases  and  a  statuette,  captured  in  Paris 
from  some  remains  of  the  Spitzer  sale,  arrived  at  the 
Tower,  it  was  to  Faversham's  room  that  Melrose  first 
conveyed  them;  and  it  was  from  Faversham's  mouth  that 
he  also,  for  the  first  time,  accepted  any  remarks  on  his 
purchases  that  were  not  wholly  rapturous.  Faversham, 
with  the  arrogance  of  the  amateur,  thought  the  vases 
superb,  and  the  statuette  dear  at  the  price.  Melrose 
allowed  it  to  be  said;  and  next  morning  the  statuette 
started  on  a  return  journey  to  Paris,  and  the  Tower  knew 
it  no  more. 

Meanwhile  the  old  collector  would  appear  at  odd 
moments  with  a  lacquered  box,  or  a  drawer  from  a  cabinet, 
and  Faversham  would  find  a  languid  amusement  in  turn- 
ing over  the  contents,  while  Melrose  strolled  smoking  up 
and  down  the  room,  telling  endless  stories  of  "finds"  and 
bargains.  Of  the  store,  indeed,  of  precious  or  curious 
objects  lying  heaped  together  in  the  confusion  of  Melrose's 
den,  the  only  treasures  of  a  portable  kind  that  Faversham 
found  any  difficulty  in  handling  were  his  own  gems.  Mel- 
rose would  bring  them  sometimes,  when  the  young  man 
specially  asked  for  them,  would  keep  a  jealous  eye  on  them 


142  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

the  whole  time  they  were  in  their  owner's  hands,  and  hurry 
them  back  to  their  drawer  in  the  Riesener  table  as  soon 
as  Favershara  could  be  induced  to  give  them  up. 

One  night  the  invalid  made  a  show  of  slipping  them 
back  into  the  breast-pocket  from  which  they  had  been 
taken  while  he  lay  unconscious. 

"I'm  well  enough  now  to  look  after  them,"  he  had 
said,  smiling,  to  his  host.  "Nurse  and  I  will  mount 
guard." 

Whereupon  Melrose  protested  so  vehemently  that  the 
young  man,  in  his  weakness,  did  not  resist.  Rather 
sulkily,  he  handed  the  case  back  to  the  greedy  hand  held 
out  for  it. 

Then  Melrose  smiled;  if  so  pleasant  a  word  may  be 
apphed  to  the  queer  glitter  that  for  a  moment  passed 
over  the  cavernous  lines  of  his  face. 

"Let  me  make  you  an  offer  for  them,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"Thank  you  —  I  don't  wish  to  sell  them." 

"I  mean  a  good  offer  —  an  offer  you  are  not  hkely  to  get 
elsewhere  —  simply  because  they  happen  to  fit  into  my 
own  collection." 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you.  But  I  have  a  sentiment  about 
them.  I  have  had  many  offers.  But  I  don't  intend  to 
sell  them," 

Melrose  was  silent  a  moment,  looking  down  on  the 
patient,  in  whose  pale  cheeks  two  spots  of  feverish  red  had 
appeared.     Then  he  turned  away. 

"All  right.     Don't  excite  yourself,  pray." 

"I  thought  he'd  try  and  get  them  out  of  me,"  thought 
Faversham  irritably,  when  he  was  left  alone.  "But  I 
shan't  sell  them  —  whatever  he  offers." 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  143 

And  vaguely  there  ran  through  his  mind  the  phrases  of 
a  letter  handed  to  him  by  his  old  uncle's  solicitor,  together 
with  the  will:  "Keep  them  for  my  sake,  my  dear  boy; 
enjoy  them,  as  I  have  done.  You  will  be  tempted  to  sell 
them;  but  don't,  if  you  can  help  it.  The  money  would  be 
soon  spent;  whereas  the  beauty  of  these  things,  the  as- 
sociations connected  with  them,  the  thoughts  they  arouse 
—  would  give  you  pleasure  for  a  lifetime.  I  have  loved 
you  like  a  father,  and  I  have  left  you  all  the  Httle  cash 
I  possess.  Use  that  as  you  will.  But  that  you  should 
keep  and  treasure  the  gems  which  have  been  so  much  to 
me,  for  my  sake  —  and  beauty's  —  would  give  me  pleasure 
in  the  shades  —  '  quo  dives  Tullus  et  Ancus ' —  you  know 
the  rest.  You  are  ambitious,  Claude.  That's  well.  But 
keep  you  heart  green." 

What  precisely  the  old  fellow  might  have  meant  by 
those  last  words,  Faversham  had  often  rather  sorely  won- 
dered, though  not  without  guesses  at  the  answer.  But 
anyway  he  had  loved  his  adopted  father;  he  protested  it; 
and  he  would  not  sell  the  gems.  They  might  represent 
his  "luck" — such  as  there  was  of  it  —  who  knew? 

The  question  of  removing  his  patient  to  a  convalescent 
home  at  Keswick  was  raised  by  Undershaw  at  the  end  of 
the  third  week  from  the  accident.  He  demanded  to  see 
Melrose  one  morning,  and  quietly  communicated  the  fact 
that  he  had  advised  Faversham  to  transfer  himself  to 
Keswick  as  soon  as  possible.  The  one  nurse  now  remain- 
ing would  accompany  him,  and  he,  Undershaw,  would 
personally  superintend  the  removal. 

Melrose  looked  at  him  with  angry  surprise. 


144  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"And  pray  what  is  the  reason  for  such  an  extraordinary 
and  unnecessary  proceeding?" 

"I  understood,"  said  Undershaw,  smihng,  "that  you 
were  anxious  to  have  your  house  to  yourself  again  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"I  defended  my  house  against  your  attack.  But  that's 
done  with.  And  why  you  should  hurry  this  poor  fellow 
now  into  new  quarters,  in  his  present  state,  when  he  might 
stay  quietly  here  till  he  is  strong  enough  for  a  railway 
journey,  I  cannot  conceive!" 

Undershaw,  remembering  the  first  encounter  between 
them,  could  not  prevent  his  smile  becoming  a  grin. 

"I  am  delighted  Mr.  Faversham  has  made  such  a  good 
impression  on  you,  sir.  But  I  understand  that  he  him- 
self feels  a  delicacy  in  trespassing  upon  you  any  longer. 
I  know  the  house  at  Keswick  to  which  I  propose  to  take 
him.  It  is  excellently  managed.  We  can  get  a  hospital 
motor  from  Carhsle,  and  of  course  I  shall  go  with  bim." 

"Do  you  suggest  that  he  has  had  any  lack  of  attention 
here  from  me  or  my  servants  .5^"  said  Melrose,  hotly. 

"By  no  means.  But  — well,  sir,  I  will  be  open  with 
you.  Mr.  Faversham  in  my  opinion  wants  a  change  of 
scene.  He  has  been  in  that  room  for  three  weeks,  and  — 
he  understands  there  is  no  other  to  which  he  can  be  moved. 
It  would  be  a  great  advantage,  too,  to  be  able  to  carry 
him  into  a  garden.  In  f  act "—  the  httle  doctor  spoke  with 
the  same  cool  frankness  he  had  used  in  his  first  interview 
with  Melrose — "your  house,  Mr.  Melrose,  is  a  museum; 
but  it  is  not  exactly  the  best  place  for  an  invaUd  who  is 
beginning  to  get  about  again." 
Melrose  frowned  upon  him. 


THE  INIATING  OF  LYDIA  145 

"What  does  he  want,  eh?  More  space?  Another 
room?  How  many  rooms  do  you  suppose  there  are  in 
this  house,  eh?"  he  asked  in  a  voice  half  hectoring,  half 
scornful. 

"Scores,  I  daresay,"  said  Undershaw,  quietly.  "But 
when  I  inquired  of  Dixon  the  other  day  whether  it  would 
be  impossible  to  move  Mr.  Faversham  into  another  room 
he  told  me  that  every  hole  and  corner  in  the  house  was 
occupied  by  your  collections,  except  two  on  the  ground 
floor  that  you  had  never  furnished.  We  can't  put  Mr. 
Faversham  into  an  unfurnished  room.  That  which  he 
occupies  at  present  is,  if  I  may  speak  plainly,  rather  barer 
of  comforts  than  I  like." 

"What  on  earth  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,  when  an  invahd's  out  of  bed  a  pleasant  and 
comfortable  room  is  a  help  to  him  —  a  few  things  to  look 
at  on  the  walls  —  a  change  of  chairs  —  a  bookcase  or  two 
—  and  so  on.  Mr.  Faversham's  present  room  is  —  I  mean 
no  offence  —  as  bare  as  a  hospital  ward,  and  not  so  cheer- 
ful. Then  as  to  the  garden" — Undershaw  moved  to  a 
side  window  and  pointed  to  the  overgrown  and  gloomy 
wilderness  outside — "nurse  and  I  have  tried  in  vain  to 
find  a  spot  to  which  we  could  carry  him.  I  am  afraid  I 
must  say  that  an  ordinary  lodging-house,  with  a  bit  of 
sunny  lawn  on  which  he  could  he  in  his  long  chair,  would 
suit  him  better,  at  his  present  stage,  than  this  fine  old 
house." 

"Luxury!"  growled  Melrose,  "useless  luxury  and  ex- 
pense! that's  what  every  one's  after  nowadays.  A  man 
must  be  as  cossu  as  a  pea  in  a  pod !  I'll  go  and  speak  to 
him  myself!" 


146  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

And  catching  up  round  him  the  sort  of  Tennysonian 
cloak  he  habitually  wore,  even  in  the  house  and  on  a  sum- 
mer day,  Melrose  moved  imperiously  toward  the  door. 

Undershaw  stood  in  his  way. 

"Mr.  Faversham  is  really  not  fit  yet  to  discuss  his  own 
plans,  except  with  his  doctor,  Mr.  Melrose.  It  would  be 
both  wise  and  kind  of  you  to  leave  the  decision  of  the 
matter  to  myself." 

Melrose  stared  at  him. 

"Come  along  here!"  he  said,  roughly.  Opening  the 
door  of  the  library,  he  turned  down  the  broad  corridor  to 
the  right.  Undershaw  followed  unwillingly.  He  was  due 
at  a  consultation  at  Keswick,  and  had  no  time  to  waste 
with  this  old  madman. 

Melrose,  still  grumbling  to  himself,  took  a  bunch  of 
keys  out  of  his  pocket,  and  fitted  one  to  the  last  door  in 
the  passage.  It  opened  with  difficulty.  Undershaw  saw 
dimly  a  large  room,  into  which  the  light  of  a  rainy  June 
day  penetrated  through  a  few  chinks  in  the  barred  shut- 
ters. Melrose  went  to  the  windows,  and  with  a  physical 
strength  which  amazed  his  companion  unshuttered  and 
opened  them  all,  helped  by  Undershaw.  One  of  them  was 
a  glass  door  leading  down  by  steps  to  the  garden  outside. 
Melrose  dragged  the  heavy  iron  shutter  which  closed  it 
open,  and  then,  panting,  looked  round  at  his  companion. 

"Will  this  do  for  you?" 

"Wonderful!"  said  Undershaw  heartily,  staring  in 
amazement  at  the  lovely  tracery  which  incrusted  the 
ceiling,  at  the  carving  of  the  doors,  at  the  stately  mantel- 
piece, with  its  marble  caryatides,  and  at  the  Chinese  wall- 
paper which  covered  the  walls,  its  mandarins  and  pagodas. 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  147 

and  its  branching  trees.  "  I  never  saw  such  a  place.  But 
what  is  my  patient  to  do  with  an  unfurnished  room.?" 

"Furniture!"  snorted  Melrose.  "Have  you  any  idea, 
sir,  what  this  house  contains.''" 

Undershaw  shook  his  head. 

Melrose  pondered  a  moment,  and  took  breath.  Then 
he  turned  to  Undershaw. 

"You  are  going  back  to  Pengarth?  You  pass  that  shop, 
Barclay's  —  the  upholsterer's.  Tell  him  to  send  me  over 
four  men  here  to-morrow,  to  do  what  they're  told.  Stop 
also  at  the  nurseryman's  —  Johnson's.  No  —  I'll  write. 
Give  me  three  days  —  and  you'll  see." 

He  studied  the  doctor's  face  with  liis  hawk's  eyes. 

Undershaw  felt  considerable  embarrassment.  The 
owner  of  the  Tower  appeared  to  him  more  of  a  lunatic 
than  ever. 

"Well,  really,  Mr.  Melrose  —  I  appreciate  your  kind- 
ness —  as  I  am  sure  my  patient  will.  But  —  why  should 
you  put  yourself  out  to  this  extent?  It  would  be  much 
simpler  for  everybody  concerned  that  I  should  find  him 
the  quarters  I  propose." 

"You  put  it  to  Mr.  Faversham  that  I  am  quite  pre- 
pared to  move  him  into  other  quarters  —  and  quarters 
infinitely  more  comfortable  than  he  can  get  in  any  infernal 
'home'  you  talk  of  —  or  I  shall  put  it  to  him  myself," 
said  Melrose,  in  his  most  determined  voice. 

"Of  course,  if  you  persist  in  asking  him  to  stay,  I  sup- 
pose he  must  ultimately  decide."  Undershaw's  tone 
betrayed  his  annoyance.  "But  I  warn  you,  I  reserve  my 
own  right  of  advice.  And  moreover  —  supposing  you  do 
furnish  this  room  for  him,  allow  me  to  point  out  that  he 


148  THE  ]\L1TING  OF  LYDIA 

will  soon  want  something  else,  and  something  more,  even, 
than  a  better  room.     He  will  want  cheerful  society." 

"Well.'*"     The  word  was  challenging. 

"You  are  most  kind  and  indefatigable  in  coming  to 
see  him.  But,  after  all,  a  man  at  his  point  of  convales- 
cence, and  inchned  to  be  depressed  —  the  natural  result  of 
such  an  accident  —  wants  change,  intellectual  as  well  as 
physical,  and  society  of  his  own  age." 

"What's  to  prevent  his  getting  it.^"  asked  Melrose, 
shortly.  "WTien  the  room  is  in  order,  he  will  use  it 
exactly  as  he  likes." 

Undershaw  shrugged  his  shoulders,  anxious  to  escape  to 
his  consultation. 

"Let  us  discuss  it  again  to-morrow.  I  have  told  you 
what  I  think  best."     He  turned  to  go. 

"Will  you  give  that  order  to  Barclay?" 

Undershaw  laughed. 

"If  I  do,  I  mustn't  be  taken  as  aiding  and  abetting  you. 
But  of  course  —  if  you  wish  it." 

"Ten  o'clock  to-morrow,"  said  Melrose,  accompanying 
him  to  the  door.  "Ten  o'clock,  sharp."  He  stood,  with 
raised  forefinger,  on  the  threshold  of  the  newly  opened 
room,  bowing  a  stiff  farewell. 

Undershaw  escaped.  But  as  he  turned  into  the  pillared 
hall,  Nurse  Aston  hurriedly  emerged  from  Faversham's 
room.  She  reported  some  fresh  trouble  in  one  of  the 
wounds  on  the  leg  caused  by  the  accident,  which  had 
never  yet  properly  healed.  There  was  some  pain,  and  a 
rise  in  temperature. 

The  unfavourable  symptoms  soon  subsided.     But  as  the 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  149 

fear  of  blood-poisoning  had  been  in  Undershaw's  mind 
from  the  beginning,  they  led  him  to  postpone,  in  any  case, 
the  arrangements  that  had  been  set  on  foot  for  Faver- 
sham's  departure.  During  three  or  four  days  afterward 
he  saw  little  or  nothing  of  Melrose.  But  he  and  Nurse 
Aston  were  well  aware  that  unusual  things  were  going  on 
in  the  house.  Owing  to  the  great  thickness  of  the  walls, 
the  distance  of  Faversham's  room  from  the  scene  of  action, 
and  the  vigilance  of  his  nurse,  who  would  allow  no  traffic 
whatever  through  the  front  hall,  the  patient  was  protected 
from  the  noise  of  workmen  in  the  house,  and  practically 
knew  nothing  of  the  operations  going  on.  Melrose  ap- 
peared every  evening  as  usual,  and  gave  no  hint. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day,  Melrose  met  Under- 
shaw  in  the  hall,  as  he  entered  the  house. 

"How  is  he?" 

"All  right  again,  I  think,  and  doing  well.  I  hope  we 
shall  have  no  further  drawbacks." 

"Be  good  enough  to  give  me  ten  minutes  —  before  you 
see  Mr.  Faversham?" 

The  invitation  could  not  have  been  more  grand-sei- 
gneunsh.  Undershaw,  consumed  with  curiosity,  accepted. 
Melrose  led  the  way. 

But  no  sooner  had  they  passed  a  huge  lacquer  screen, 
newly  placed  in  position,  and  turned  into  the  great  cor- 
ridor, than  Undershaw  exclaimed  in  amazement.  Melrose 
was  striding  along  toward  the  south  wing.  Behind  them, 
screened  off,  lay  regions  no  longer  visible  to  any  one  com- 
ing from  the  hall.  In  front,  stretched  a  beautiful  and 
stately  gallery,  terminating  in  a  pillared  window,  through 
which  streamed  a  light  to  which  both  it  and  the  gallery 


150  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

had  been  strangers  for  nearly  a  score  of  years.  A  mass 
of  thick  shrubbery  outside,  which  had  grown  up  close  to 
the  house,  and  had  been  allowed  for  years  to  block  this 
window,  together  with  many  others  on  the  ground  floor, 
had  been  cut  sheer  away.  The  effect  was  startling,  and 
through  the  panes,  freed  from  the  dust  and  cobwebs  of  a 
generation,  the  blue  distant  line  of  the  Pennines  could  be 
distinctly  seen  far  away  to  the  southeast.  The  floor  of 
the  gallery  was  spread  with  a  fine  matting  of  a  faint  golden 
brown,  on  which  at  intervals  lay  a  few  old  Persian  or 
Indian  rugs.  The  white  panelling  of  the  walls  was  broken 
here  and  there  by  a  mirror,  or  a  girandole,  delicate  work 
of  the  same  date  as  the  Riesener  table;  while  halfway 
down  two  Rose  du  Barri  tapestries  faced  each  other, 
glowing  in  the  June  sun.  It  was  all  spacious  —  a  little 
empty  —  the  whole  conception  singularly  refined  —  the 
colour  lovely. 

Melrose  stalked  on,  silently,  pulling  at  his  beard.  He 
made  no  reply  to  Undershaw's  admiring  comments;  and 
the  doctor  wondered  whether  he  was  already  ashamed  of 
the  impulse  which  had  made  him  do  so  strange  a  thing. 

Presently,  he  threw  open  the  door  he  had  unlocked  the 
week  before,  Undershaw  stepped  into  a  room  no  less 
attractive  than  the  gallery  outside.  A  carpet  of  old 
Persian,  of  a  faded  blue  —  a  few  cabinets  spaced  along  the 
walls  —  a  few  bookcases  full  of  books  old  and  new  —  a 
pillared  French  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  —  a  comfortable 
modern  sofa,  and  some  armchairs  —  branches  of  white 
rhododendron  in  a  great  enamelled  vase  —  and  two  oval 
portraits  on  the  walls,  a  gentleman  in  red,  and  a  gentleman 
in  blue,  both  pastels  by  Latour  —  in  some  such  way  one 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  151 

might  have  catalogued  the  contents  of  the  room.  But 
no  catalogue  could  have  rendered  its  effect  on  Undershaw, 
who  was  not  without  artistic  leanings  of  a  mild  kind 
himself  —  an  effect  as  of  an  old  debt  paid,  an  injustice 
remedied,  a  beautiful  creation  long  abused  and  desecrated, 
restored  to  itself.  The  room  was  at  last  what  it  had 
been  meant  to  be;  and  after  a  hundred  and  fifty  years 
the  thought  of  its  dead  architect  had  found  fruition. 

But  this  was  not  all.  The  garden  door  stood  open,  and 
outside,  as  he  walked  up  to  it,  Undershaw  saw  a  stretch  of 
smooth  grass,  with  groups  of  trees  —  the  survivors  of  a 
ragged  army  —  encircling  it;  a  blaze  of  flowers;  and  be- 
yond the  low  parapet  wall  of  lichened  stone,  from  which 
also  a  dense  thicket  of  yew  and  laurel  had  been  removed, 
the  winding  course  of  the  river,  seventy  feet  below  the 
Tower,  showed  blue  under  a  clear  sky.  A  deck  chair 
stood  on  the  grass  and  a  garden  table  beside  it,  holding  an 
ash-tray  and  cigarettes. 

Undershaw,  after  a  pause  of  wonder,  warmly  expressed 
his  admiration.     Melrose  received  it  ungraciously. 

"Why,  the  things  were  all  in  the  house.  Clumsy 
brutes!  —  Barclay's  men  would  have  broken  the  half  of 
them,  if  I  hadn't  been  here,"  he  said,  morosely.  "Now 
will  you  tell  Mr.  Faversham  this  room  is  at  his  disposal, 
or  shall  I?" 

HaK  an  hour  later  Faversham,  assisted  by  his  nurse, 
had  limped  along  the  corridor,  and  was  sitting  beside  the 
glass  door  in  an  utter  yet  not  unpleasant  bewilderment. 
Wliat  on  earth  had  made  the  strange  old  fellow  take  such 
an  odd  fancy  to  him.^     He  had  had  singularly  little  "spoil- 


152  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

ing"  in  his  orphaned  life  so  far,  except  occasionally  from 
"  Uncle  Mackworth, "  The  experience  was  disturbing,  yet 
certainly  not  disagreeable. 

He  must  of  course  stay  on  for  a  while,  now  that  such 
extraordinary  pains  had  been  taken  for  his  comfort.  It 
would  be  nothing  less  than  sheer  ingratitude  were  he  not 
to  do  so.  At  the  same  time,  his  temperament  was  cau- 
tious; he  was  no  green  youngster;  and  he  could  not  but  ask 
himself,  given  Melrose's  character  and  reputation,  what 
ulterior  motive  there  might  be  behind  a  generosity  so 
eccentric. 

Meanwhile  Melrose,  in  high  spirits,  and  full  of  com- 
plaisance, now  that  the  hated  Undershaw  had  departed, 
walked  up  and  down  as  usual,  talking  and  smoking.  It 
was  evident  that  the  whole  process  of  unpacking  his  treas- 
ures had  put  him  in  a  glow  of  excitement.  The  sudden 
interruption  of  habit  had  acted  with  stimulating  power, 
his  mind,  like  his  home,  had  shaken  off  some  of  its  dust. 
He  talked  about  the  pictures  and  furniture  he  had  un- 
earthed; the  Latour  pastels,  the  Gobelins  in  the  gallery; 
rambling  through  scenes  and  incidents  of  the  past,  in  a 
vivacious,  egotistical  monologue,  which  kept  Faversham 
amused. 

In  the  middle  of  it,  however,  he  stopped  abruptly,  eying 
his  guest. 

"Can  you  write  yet?" 

"Pretty  well.     My  arm's  rather  stiff." 

"Make  your  nurse  write  some  notes  for  you.  That 
man  —  Undershaw  —  says  you  must  have  some  society  — 
invite  some  people." 

Faversham  laughed. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  153 

"I  don't  know  a  soul,  either  at  Keswick  or  Pengarth." 

"There  have  been  some  people  inquiring  after 
you." 

"Oh,  young  Tatham?     Yes,  I  knew  him  at  Oxford." 

"And  the  women  —  who  are  they  ? " 

Faversham  explained. 

"Miss  Penfold  seems  to  have  recognized  me  from 
Undershaw's  account.  They  are  your  nearest  neighbours, 
aren't  they.'*"     He  looked  smiling  at  his  host. 

"I  don't  know  my  neighbours!"  said  Melrose,  em- 
phatically. "But  as  for  that  young  ass,  Tatham  —  ask 
him  to  come  and  see  you." 

"By  all  means  —  if  you  suggest  it." 

Melrose  chuckled. 

"But  he  won't  come,  unless  he  knows  I  am  safely  out 
of  the  way.  He  and  I  are  not  on  terms,  though  his  mother 
and  I  are  cousins.  I  dare  say  Undershaw's  told  you  — 
he's  thick  with  them.  The  young  man  has  been  insolent 
to  me  on  one  or  two  occasions.  I  shall  have  to  take  him 
down.  He's  one  of  your  popularity-hunting  fools.  How- 
ever you  ask  him  by  all  means  if  you  want  him.  He'll 
come  to  see  you.  Ask  him  Thursday.  I  shall  be  at 
Carlisle  for  the  day.     Tell  him  so." 

He  paused,  his  dark  eyeballs,  over  which  the  whites 
had  a  trick  of  showing  disagreeably,  fixing  his  visitor; 
then  added: 

"And  ask  the  women  too.  I  shan't  bite  'em.  I  saw 
them  from  the  window  the  day  they  came  to  inquire. 
The  mother  looked  perfectly  scared.  The  daughter's 
good  looking." 

Manner  and  tone  produced  a  vague  irritation  in  Faver- 


154  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

sham.     But  he  merely  said  that  he  would  write  to  Mrs. 
Penfold. 

Two  notes  were  accordingly  despatched  that  evening 
from  the  Tower;  one  to  Duddon  Castle,  the  other  to  Green 
Cottage.  Faversham  had  succeeded  in  writing  them  him- 
self; and  in  the  exhilaration  of  what  seemed  to  him  a 
much-quickened  convalescence,  he  made  arrangements  the 
following  morning  to  part  with  his  nurse  within  a  few 
days.  "Do  as  you  like,  in  moderation,"  said  Undershaw, 
*'but  no  railway  journey  for  a  week  or  two." 


VII 

MELROSE  had  gone  to  Carlisle.  The  Cumbria 
landscape  lay  in  a  misty  sunshine,  the  woods  and 
fields  steaming  after  a  night  of  soaking  rain.  All 
the  shades  of  early  summer  were  melting  into  each  other; 
reaches  of  the  river  gave  back  a  silvery  sky,  while  under 
the  trees  the  shadows  slept.  The  mountains  were  indis- 
tinct, drawn  in  pale  blues  and  purples,  on  a  background  of 
lilac  and  pearl.  And  all  the  vales  "were  up,"  drinking 
in  the  streams  that  poured  from  the  heights, 

Tatham  and  his  mother  were  walking  through  the  park 
together.  He  was  in  riding-dress,  and  his  horse  awaited 
him  at  the  Keswick  gate.  Lady  Tatham  beside  him  was 
attired  as  usual  in  the  plainest  and  oldest  of  clothes.  Her 
new  gowns,  which  she  ordered  from  time  to  time  mechani- 
cally, leaving  the  whole  designing  of  them  to  her  dress- 
maker, served  her  at  Duddon,  in  her  own  phrase,  mainly 
"for  my  maid  to  show  the  housekeeper."  They  lay  in 
scented  drawers,  daintily  folded  in  tissue  paper,  and  a  maid 
no  less  ambitious  than  her  fellows  for  a  well-dressed  mis- 
tress kept  mournful  watch  over  them.  This  carelessness 
of  dress  had  grown  upon  Victoria  Tatham  with  years.  In 
her  youth  the  indulgence  of  a  taste  for  beautiful  and 
artistic  clothes  had  taken  up  a  great  deal  of  her  time. 
Then  suddenly  it  had  all  become  indifferent  to  her.  De- 
votion to  her  boy,  books,  and  natural  history  absorbed 

155 


156  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

a  mind  more  and  more  impatient  of  ordinary  conven- 
tions. 

"You  are  quite  sure  that  Melrose  will  be  out  of  the 
way?"  she  asked  her  son  as  they  entered  on  the  last 
stretch  of  their  walk. 

"Well,  you  saw  the  letter." 

"No  —  give  it  me." 

He  handed  it.     She  read  it  through  attentively. 

"Mr.  Melrose  asks  me  to  say  that  he  will  not  be  here. 
He  is  going  over  to  the  neighbourhood  of  Carlisle  on 
business,  and  cannot  be  home  till  ten  o'clock  at  night." 

"He  has  the  decency  not  to  'regret,'"  said  Lady 
Tatham. 

"No.  It  is  awkward  of  course  going  at  all"  —  Tat- 
ham's  brow  was  a  little  furrowed  —  "  but  I  somehow  think 
I  ought  to  go." 

"Oh,  go,"  said  his  mother.  "If  he  does  play  a  trick 
you  will  know  how  to  meet  it.  It  would  be  very  hke  him 
to  play  some  trick,"  she  added,  thoughtfully. 

"Mother,"  said  Tatham  impetuously,  "was  Melrose 
ever  in  love  with  you.''" 

He  coloured  boyishly  as  he  spoke.  Lady  Tatham  looked 
up  startled;   a  faint  red  appeared  in  her  cheeks  also. 

"I  believe  he  supposed  himself  to  be.  I  knew  him  very 
well,  and  I  might  —  possibly  —  have  accepted  him  —  but 
that  some  information  came  to  my  knowledge.  Then, 
later  on,  largelj^  I  think  to  punish  me,  he  nearly  succeeded 
in  entangling  my  younger  sister  —  your  Aunt  Edith.  I 
stood  in  his  way.  He  hates  me,  of  course.  I  think  he 
suffered.  In  those  days  he  was  very  different.  But  his 
pride  and  self-will  were  always  a  madness.     And  grad- 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  157 

ually  they  have  devoured  everything  else."  She  paused. 
"I  cannot  tell  you  anything  more,  Harry.  There  were 
other  people  concerned." 

"Dearest,  as  if  I  should  ask!  He  did  my  mother  no 
injury.?" 

Under  the  shadow  of  the  woods  the  young  man  threw 
his  arm  round  her  shoulders,  looking  down  upon  her  with 
a  proud  tenderness. 

"None.  I  escaped;  and  I  won  all  along  the  line.  I  was 
neither  to  be  pitied  —  nor  he,"  she  added  slowly,  "though 
I  daresay  he  would  put  down  his  later  mode  of  life  to  me." 

"As  if  any  woman  could  ever  have  put  up  with  him!" 

Lady  Tatham's  expression  showed  a  mind  drawn  back 
into  the  past. 

"When  I  first  saw  him,  he  was  a  magnificent  creature. 
For  several  years  I  was  dazzled  by  him.  Then  when  I 
—  and  others  —  broke  with  him,  he  turned  his  back  on 
England  and  went  to  live  abroad.  And  gradually  he 
quarrelled  with  everybody  who  had  ever  known  him." 

"But  you  never  did  care  about  him,  mother?"  cried 
Tatham,  outraged  by  the  mere  notion  of  any  such  thing. 

"No  —  never."  There  was  a  deliberate  emphasis  on 
the  words.  The  smile  that  followed  was  slight  but  poig- 
nant. "I  knew  that  still  more  plainly,  when,  six  months 
after  I  ceased  to  see  him,  your  father  came  along." 

Tatham  who  had  drawn  her  hand  within  his  arm,  laid 
his  own  upon  it  for  a  moment.  He  was  in  the  happy  posi- 
tion of  a  son  in  whom  filial  affection  represented  no  en- 
forced piety,  but  the  spontaneous  instinct  of  his  nature. 
His  mother  had  been  so  far  his  best  friend;  and  though  he 
rarely  spoke  of  his  father  his  childish  recollections  of  him, 


158  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

and  the  impression  left  by  his  mother's  constant  and  delib- 
erate talk  of  him,  during  the  boyish  years  of  her  son,  had 
entered  deep  into  the  bases  of  character.  It  is  on  such 
feelings  and  traditions  that  all  that  is  best  in  our  still 
feudal  English  life  is  reared;  Tatham  had  known  them 
without  stint;  and  in  their  absence  he  would  have  been 
merely  the  trivially  prosperous  young  man  that  he  no 
doubt  appeared  to  the  Radical  orators  of  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

The  wood  thinned.  They  emerged  from  it  to  see  the 
Helvellyn  range  lying  purple  under  a  southwest  sky,  and 
Tatham's  gray  mare  waiting  a  hundred  yards  away. 

"  You  have  no  note?  " 

Tatham  tapped  his  breast  pocket. 

"Rather!" 

"All  right  —  go  along! "  Lady  Tatham  came  to  a  halt. 
"And  Harry  —  don't  call  too  often!  Is  this  the  third 
visit  this  week.?" 

"Oh,  but  the  others  were  such  little  ones!"  he  said 
eagerly. 

"Don't  try  to  go  too  quick."     The  tone  was  serious. 

"Too  quick!  I  make  no  way  at  all,"  he  protested,  his 
look  clouding. 

Tatham  rode  slowly  along  the  Darra,  the  little  river 
which  skirted  his  own  land  and  made  its  way  at  last  into 
that  which  flowed  beneath  the  Tower.  He  was  going  to 
Threlfall,  but  on  his  way  he  was  to  call  at  Green  Cottage 
and  deliver  a  note  from  his  mother. 

He  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  Lydia  Penfold  during  the 
weeks  since  her  first  appearance  at  Duddon.     The  two 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  159 

sisters  had  been  induced  to  lunch  there  once  or  twice; 
there  had  been  a  picnic  in  the  Glendarra  woods;  and  for 
himself,  in  spite  of  his  mother's  attack,  he  thought  he  had 
been  fairly  clever  in  contriving  excuses  for  calls.  On  one 
occasion  he  had  carried  with  him  —  by  his  mother's  sug- 
gestion —  a  portfolio  containing  a  dozen  early  proofs  of 
the  "Liber  Studiorium,"  things  about  which  he  knew  little 
or  nothing;  but  Lydia's  eyes  had  sparkled  when  he  pro- 
duced them,  which  was  all  he  cared  for.  On  the  second, 
he  had  called  to  offer  them  a  key  which  would  admit 
their  pony-carriage  to  some  of  the  private  drives  of  the 
park,  wild  enchanted  ways  which  led  up  to  the  very  eastern 
heart  of  Blencathra.  That  was  not  quite  so  successful, 
because  both  Lydia  and  her  mother  were  out,  and  his 
call  had  been  made  chiefly  on  Susan,  who  had  been  even 
queerer  than  usual.  After  taking  the  key,  she  had  let  it 
fall  absently  into  a  waste-paper  basket,  while  she  talked 
to  him  about  Ibsen;  and  he  had  been  forced  to  rescue  it 
himself,  lest  Lydia  should  never  know  of  his  visit.  On 
all  other  occasions  he  had  found  Lydia,  and  she  had  been 
charming  —  always  charming  —  but  as  light  and  inac- 
cessible as  mountain  birds.  He  had  been  allowed  to  see 
the  drawing  she  was  now  busy  on  —  the  ravines  of  Blen- 
cathra, caught  sideways  through  a  haze  of  Hght,  edge  be- 
yond edge,  distance  behind  distance;  a  brave  attempt  on 
the  artist's  part  at  poetic  breadth  and  selection.  She  had 
been  much  worried  about  the  "values,"  whatever  they 
might  be.  "They're  quite  vilely  wrong!"  she  had  said, 
impatiently.  "And  I  don't  know  how  to  get  them  right." 
And  all  he  could  do  was  to  stand  like  an  oaf  and  ask  her 
to  explain.     Nor  could  he  ignore  the  fact  —  so  new  and 


160  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

strange  to  a  princeling !  —  that  her  perplexities  were  more 
interesting  to  her  than  his  visit. 

Yet  of  course  Tatham  had  his  own  natural  conceit  of 
himself,  like  any  normal  young  man,  in  the  first  bloom  of 
prosperous  life.  He  was  accustomed  to  be  smiled  on; 
to  find  his  pleasure  consulted,  and  his  company  welcome, 
whether  as  the  young  master  of  Duddon,  or  as  a  comrade 
among  his  equals  of  either  sex.  The  general  result  in- 
deed of  his  happy  placing  in  the  world  had  been  to  make 
him  indifferent  to  things  that  most  men  desire.  No  merit 
in  that!  As  he  truly  said,  he  had  so  much  of  them !  But 
he  was  proud  of  his  health  and  strength  —  his  shooting 
and  the  steady  lowering  of  his  golf  handicap.  He  was 
proud  also  of  certain  practical  aptitudes  he  possessed,  and 
would  soon  allow  no  one  to  interfere  with  him  —  hardly  to 
advise  him  —  in  the  management  of  his  estate.  He  hked 
nothing  better  than  to  plan  the  rebuilding  of  a  farm,  or 
a  set  of  new  cottages.  He  was  a  fair  architect,  of  a  rough 
and  ready  sort,  and  a  decent  thatcher  and  bricklayer.  All 
the  older  workmen  on  the  estate  had  taught  him  some- 
thing at  one  time  or  another;  and  of  these  various  handi- 
crafts he  was  boyishly  vain. 

None  of  these  qualifications,  however,  gave  him  the 
smallest  confidence  in  himself,  M'ith  regard  to  Lydia  Pen- 
fold.  Ever  since  he  had  first  met  her,  he  had  realized 
in  her  the  existence  of  standards  just  as  free  as  his  own, 
only  quite  different.  Other  girls  wished  to  be  courted; 
or  they  courted  him.  Miss  Penfold  gave  no  sign  that 
she  wished  to  be  courted;  and  she  certainly  had  never 
courted  anybody.  Many  pretty  girls  assert  themselves 
by  a  kind  of  calculated  or  rude  audacity,  as  though  to  say 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  161 

that  gentleness  and  civility  are  not  for  the  hkes  of  them. 
Lydia  was  always  gentle  —  kind,  at  least  —  even  when 
she  laughed  at  you.  Unless  she  got  upon  her  "ideas." 
Then  —  Uke  Susan  —  she  could  harangue  a  little,  and 
grow  vehement  —  as  she  had  at  Duddon  that  day,  talking 
of  the  new  independence  of  women.  But  neither  her 
gentleness  nor  her  vehemence  seemed  to  have  any  rela- 
tion to  what  a  man  —  or  men  —  might  desire  of  her.  She 
lived  for  herself;  not  indeed  in  any  selfish  sense;  for  it  was 
plain  that  she  was  an  affectionate  daughter  and  sister;  but 
simply  the  world  was  so  interesting  to  her  in  other  ways 
that  she  seemed  to  have  no  need  of  men  and  matrimony. 
And  as  to  money,  luxury,  a  great  train  de  vie  —  he  had 
felt  from  the  beginning  that  those  things  mattered  nothing 
at  all  to  her.  It  might  be  inexperience,  it  might  be  some- 
thing loftier.  But,  at  any  rate,  if  she  were  to  be  bribed,  it 
must  be  with  goods  of  another  kind. 

As  to  himself,  he  only  knew  that  from  his  first  sight  of 
her  at  the  Hunt  Ball,  she  had  filled  his  thoughts.  Her 
delicate,  pale  beauty,  lit  by  those  vivacious  eyes;  so  quiet, 
so  feminine,  yet  with  its  suggestion  of  something  uncon- 
querable, moving  in  a  world  apart  —  he  could  not  define 
it  in  any  such  words;  but  there  it  was,  the  attraction,  the 
lure.  Something  difficult;  something  dehghtful!  A  dear 
woman,  a  woman  to  be  loved;  and  yet  a  thorn  hedge  sur- 
rounding her  —  how  else  can  one  put  the  eternal  chal- 
lenge, the  eternal  chase.'* 

But  as  three  parts  of  love  is  hope,  and  hope  is  really  the 
mother  of  invention,  Tatham,  though  full  of  anxiety,  was 
also,  like  General  Trochu,  full  of  plans.  He  had  that 
morning  made  his  mother  despatch  an  invitation  to  one  of 


162  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

the  great  painters  of  the  day;  a  man  who  ruled  the  beauties 
of  the  moment  en  Sultan;  painted  whom  he  would;  when 
he  would;  and  at  what  price  he  would.  But  while  those 
who  were  dying  to  be  painted  by  him  must  often  wait  for 
years,  and  put  up  with  manners  none  too  polite,  there  were 
others  who  avenged  them;  women,  a  few,  very  few  women, 
whom  the  great  man,  strange  to  say,  sighed  to  paint,  and 
sighed  in  vain.  Such  women  were  generally  w^omen  of  a 
certain  age;  none  of  your  soft-cheeked  beauties.  And 
Lady  Tatham  was  one  of  them.  The  great  artist  had 
begged  her  to  let  herself  be  painted  by  him.  And  Victoria 
had  neghgently  replied  that,  perhaps,  at  Duddon,  some 
day,  there  might  be  time.  Several  reminders,  launched 
from  the  Chelsea  studio,  had  not  brought  her  to  the  point; 
but  now  for  her  son's  sake  she  had  actully  named  a  time; 
^nd  a  jubilant  telegram  from  London  had  clenched  the 
bargain.  The  great  man  was  to  arrive  in  a  fortnight  from 
now,  for  a  week's  visit;  and  Tatham  had  in  his  pocket  a 
note  from  Lady  Tatham  to  Mrs.  Penfold  requesting  the 
pleasure  of  her  company  and  that  of  her  two  daughters  at 
-dinner,  to  meet  Mr.  Louis  Delorme,  the  day  after  his 
arrival. 

And  all  this,  because,  at  a  mention  of  the  illustrious 
name,  Lydia  had  looked  up  with  a  flutter  of  enthusiasm. 
"You  know  him?  How  lucky  for  you!  He's  wonderful! 
I?  Oh,  no.  How  should  I.'  I  saw  him  once  in  the  dis- 
tance —  he  was  giving  away  prizes.  I  didn't  get  one 
—  alack!     That's  the  nearest  I  shall  ever  come  to  him." 

Tatham  chuckled  happily  as  he  thought  of  it. 

"She  shall  sit  next  the  old  boy  at  dinner,  and  she  shall 
talk  to  him  just  as  much  as  she  jolly  well  pleases.     And 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  163 

of  course  he'll  take  to  Iier,  and  offer  to  give  her  lessons  — 
or  paint  her  —  or  something.  Then  we  can  get  her  over 
—  lots  of  times!" 

Still  dallying  with  these  simple  plans,  Tatham  arrived 
at  Green  Cottage,  and  tying  up  his  horse  went  in  to  deliver 
his  note. 

He  had  no  sooner  entered  the  little  drive  than  he  saw 
Lydia  under  a  laburnum  tree  on  the  lawn.  Hat  in  hand, 
the  smiling  youth  approached  her.  She  was  sewing, 
apparently  mending  house-linen,  which  she  quietly  put 
down  to  greet  him.  There  was  a  book  before  her;  a 
book  of  poetry,  he  thought.  She  slipped  it  among  the 
folds  of  the  linen. 

He  could  not  flatter  himself  that  his  appearance  dis- 
turbed her  composure  in  the  least.  She  was  evidently 
glad  to  see  him;  she  was  gratefully  sure  that  they  would 
all  be  delighted  to  dine  with  Lady  Tatham  on  the  day 
named;  she  came  with  him  to  the  gate,  and  admired  his 
horse.  But  as  to  any  flutter  of  hand  or  eye;  any  con- 
sciousness in  her,  answering  to  the  eager  feeling  in  him  — 
he  knew  very  well  there  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  Never 
mind!  There  was  an  inner  voice  in  him  that  kept  reas- 
suring him  all  the  time;  telling  him  to  be  patient;  to  go  at 
it  steadily.  There  was  no  other  fellow  in  the  way,  any- 
how! He  had  a  joyous  sense  of  all  the  opportunities  to 
come,  the  summer  days,  the  open  country,  the  resources 
of  Duddon. 

With  his  hand  on  his  horse's  neck,  and  loath  to  ride 
away,  he  told  her  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  Tower  to 
call  on  Faversham. 


164  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Oh,  but  we're  coming  too,  mother  and  II"  she  said,  in 
surprise.  "Mr.  Faversham  sent  us  a  note.  I  don't  be- 
heve  he  ought  to  have  two  sets  of  visitors  just  yet." 

Tatham  too  was  surprised.  "How  on  earth  Faversham 
is  able  to  entertain  anybody,  I  can't  think!  Undershaw 
told  me  last  week  he  must  get  him  away,  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, into  decent  quarters.     He  doesn't  get  on  very  fast." 

"He's  been  awfully  ill!"  said  Lydia,  with  a  soft  concern 
in  her  voice,  which  made  the  splendid  young  fellow  beside 
her  envious  at  once  of  the  invahd.  "Well,  good-bye!  for 
the  moment.     We  have  ordered  the  pony  in  half  an  hour." 

"You'll  see  a  queer  place;  the  piggery  that  old  fellow 
lives  in!  You  didn't  know  Faversham  —  I  think  you 
said  —  before  that  day  of  the  accident.'^"  He  looked 
down  on  her  from  the  saddle. 

"Not  the  least.  I  feel  a  horrid  pang  sometimes  that  I 
didn't  warn  him  of  that  hill!" 

"Any  decent  bike  ought  to  have  managed  that  hill  all 
right,"  said  Tatham  scornfully.  "Scores  of  tourists  go 
up  and  down  it  every  day  in  the  summer." 

I.ydia  bade  him  speak  more  respectfully  of  his  native 
hills,  lest  they  bring  him  also  to  grief.  Then  she  waved 
good-bye  to  him;  received  the  lingering  bow  and  eager 
look,  which  betrayed  the  youth;  thought  of  "young  Harry 
with  his  beaver  on,"  as  she  watched  the  disappearing 
horseman,  and  went  back  for  a  while  to  her  needlework 
and  cogitation. 

That  she  was  flattered  and  touched,  that  she  liked  him 
—  the  kind,  courteous  boy  —  that  was  certain.  Must  she 
really  assume  anything  else  on  his  part  —  take  his  ad- 
vances seriously  —  check  them  —  put  up  restrictions  — 


THE  INIATING  OF  LYDIA  165 

make  herself  disagreeable?  Why?  During  her  training 
in  London,  Lydia  had  drunk  of  the  modern  spring  like 
other  girls.  She  had  been  brought  up  in  a  small  old- 
fashioned  way,  by  her  foolish  little  mother,  and  by  a 
father  —  a  stupid,  honourable,  affectionate  man  —  whom 
she  had  loved  with  a  half-tender,  half -rebellious  affection. 
There  had  been  no  education  to  speak  of,  for  either  her  or 
Susy.  But  the  qualities  and  gifts  of  remoter  ancestors 
had  appeared  in  them  —  to  the  bewilderment  of  their 
parents.  And  when  after  her  father's  death  Lydia,  at 
nineteen,  had  insisted  on  entering  the  Slade  School,  she 
had  passed  through  some  years  of  rapid  development. 
At  bottom  her  temperament  always  remained,  on  the 
whole,  conservative  and  critical;  the  temperament  of  the 
humourist,  in  whose  heart  the  old  loyalties  still  lie  warm. 
But  that  remarkable  change  in  the  whole  position  and 
outlook  of  women  which  has  marked  the  last  half  century 
naturally  worked  upon  her  as  upon  others.  For  such  per- 
sons as  Lydia  it  has  added  dignity  and  joy  to  a  woman's 
life,  without  the  fever  and  disorganization  which  attend  its 
extremer  forms.  While  Susy,  attending  lectures  at  Uni- 
versity College,  became  a  Suffragist,  Lydia,  absorbed  in 
the  pleasures  and  pains  of  her  artistic  training,  looked  upon 
the  suffrage  as  a  mere  dusty  matter  of  political  machinery. 

But  the  ideas  of  her  student  years —  those  "  ideas"  which 
Tatham  felt  so  much  in  his  way  —  were  still  dominant. 
Marriage  was  not  necessary.  Art  and  knowledge  could 
very  well  suflSce.  On  the  whole,  in  her  own  case,  she 
aspired  to  make  them  suffice. 

But  not  in  any  cloistered  world.  Women  who  lived 
merely  womanish  lives,  without  knowledge  of  and  com- 


V, 


166  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

radeship  with  men,  seemed  to  her  limited  and  parochial 
creatures.  She  was  impatient  of  her  sex,  and  the  narrow- 
ness of  her  sex's  sphere.  She  dreamed  of  a  broadly  hu- 
man, practical,  disinterested  relation  between  men  and 
women,  based  on  the  actual  work  of  the  world;  its  social, 
artistic,  intellectual  work;  all  that  has  made  civilization. 

"We  women  are  starved"  —  she  thought,  "because 
men  will  only  marry  us  —  or  make  playthings  of  us. 
But  the  world  is  only  just  —  these  last  years  —  open  to  us, 
as  it  has  been  open  to  men  for  thousands  of  generations. 
We  want  to  taste  and  handle  it  for  ourselves;  as  men  do. 
Why  can't  they  take  us  by  the  hand  —  a  few  of  us  —  teach 
us,  confide  in  us,  open  the  treasure-house  to  us?  —  and 
kt  us  alone!  To  be  treated  as  good  fellows! — that's 
all  we  ask.  Some  of  us  would  make  such  fratchy  wives 
—  and  such  excellent  friends!  I  vow  I  should  make  a 
good  friend!     Why  shouldn't  Lord  Tatham  try? " 

And  letting  her  work  fall  upon  the  grass,  she  sat  smiling 
and  thinking,  her  pale  brown  hair  blown  back  by  the  wind. 
In  her  simple  gray  dress,  which  showed  the  rippling  beauty 
of  every  line,  she  was  like  one  of  these  innumerable  angels 
or  virtues,  by  artists  illustrious  or  forgotten,  which  throng 
the  golden  twilight  of  an  Italian  church;  drawing  back  the 
curtains  of  a  Doge;  hovering  in  quiet  skies;  or  offering  the 
Annunciation  lily,  from  one  side  of  a  great  tomb,  to  the 
shrinking  Madonna  on  the  other.  These  creations  of 
Italy  in  her  early  prime  are  the  most  spontaneous  of  the 
children  of  beauty.  There  are  no  great  differences  among 
them;  the  common  type  is  lovely;  they  spring  like  flowers 
from  one  root,  in  which  are  the  forces  both  of  Greece  and 
the  Italy  of  Leonardo.     It  was  their  harmony,  their  cheer- 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  167 

fulness,  their  touch  of  somethmg  universal,  that  were 
somehow  reproduced  in  this  English  girl,  and  that  made 
the  secret  of  her  charm. 

She  went  on  thinking  about  Tatham. 

Presently  she  had  built  a  castle  high  in  air;  she  had 
worked  it  out  —  how  she  was  to  make  Lord  Tatham  clearly 
understand,  before  he  had  any  chance  of  proposing  (if  that 
were  really  ia  the  wind,  and  she  were  not  a  mere  lump 
of  conceit),  that  marrying  was  not  her  line;  but  that,  as  a 
friend,  he  might  rely  upon  her.  Anything  —  in  particu- 
lar—  that  she  could  do  to  help  him  to  a  wife,  short  of 
offermg  herself,  was  at  his  service.  She  would  be  eyes  and 
ears  for  him;  she  would  tell  him  things  he  did  not  in  the 
least  suspect  about  the  sex. 

But  as  to  marrying!  She  rose  from  her  seat,  stretching 
her  arms  toward  the  sky  and  the  blossoming  trees,  in  that 
half-wild  gesture  which  so  truly  expressed  her.  Marrying 
Duddon!  that  vast  house,  and  all  those  possessions;  those 
piles  of  money;  those  coimty  relations,  and  that  web  of 
inherited  custom  which  would  lay  its  ghostly  compulsion 
on  Tatham's  wnfe  the  very  instant  he  had  married  her  — 
it  was  not  to  be  thought  of  for  a  moment !  She,  the  artist 
wnth  art  and  the  world  before  her;  she,  with  her  soul  in  her 
own  keeping,  and  all  the  beauty  of  sky  and  fell  and  stream 
to  be  had  for  the  asking,  to  make  herself  the  bond  slave 
of  Duddon  —  of  that  formidably  beautiful,  that  fond, 
fastidious  mother !  —  and  of  all  the  ceremonial  and  para- 
phemaha  that  must  come  with  Duddon !  She  saw  herself 
spending  weeks  on  the  mere  ordering  of  her  clothes,  call- 
ing endlessly  on  stupid  people,  opening  bazaars,  running 
hospitals,  entertaining  house  parties,   with  the  clef  des 


168  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

chaiwps  gone  forever  —  a  little  drawing  at  odd  times  — 
and  all  the  meaning  of  life  drowned  in  its  trappings. 
No  —  no  —  no!  —  a  thousand  times,  no !  Not  though 
her  mother  implored  her,  and  every  creature  in  Cum- 
bria and  the  universe  thought  her  stark  staring  mad. 
No!  —  for  her  own  sake  first;  but,  above  all,  for  Lord 
Tatham's  sake. 

Whereat  she  repentantly  reminded  herself  that  after 
all,  if  she  despised  the  world  and  the  flesh,  there  was  no 
need  to  give  herself  airs;  for  certainly  Harry  Tatham  was 
giving  proof  —  stronger  proof  indeed,  of  doing  the  same;  if 
it  were  really  his  intention  to  offer  his  handsome  person, 
and  his  no  less  handsome  possessions  to  a  girl  as  insig- 
nificant as  herself .  Custom  had  not  staled  Aiw.  And  there 
was  his  mother  too;  who,  instead  of  nipping  the  silly  busi- 
ness in  the  bud,  and  carrying  the  foohsh  young  man  to 
London,  was  actually  aiding  and  abetting  —  sending 
gracious  invitations  to  dinner,  of  the  most  unnecessary 
description. 

What  indeed  could  be  more  detached,  more  romantic  — 
apparently  —  than  the  attitudie  of  both  Tatham  and  his 
mother  toward  their  own  immense  advantages? 

Yes.  But  they  were  born  to  them;  they  had  had  time 
to  get  used  to  them.  "It  would  take  me  half  a  lifetime 
to  find  out  what  they  mean,  and  another  half  to  discover 
what  to  do  with  them." 

"And,  if  one  takes  the  place,  ought  one  not  to  earn  the 
wages?  I<ady  Tatham  sits  loose  to  all  her  social  duties, 
scorns  frocks,  won't  call,  cuts  bazaars,  has  never  been 
known  to  take  the  chair  at  a  meeting.  But  I  should  eall 
that  shirking.     Either  refuse  the  game;  or  play  it!     And 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  169 

of  all  the  games  in  the  world,  surely,  surely  the  Lady 
Bountiful  game  is  the  dullest!     I  icon''t  be  bored  with  it!" 

She  went  toward  the  house,  her  smiling  eyes  on  the 
grass.  "But,  of  course,  if  I  could  not  get  on  without  the 
young  man,  I  should  put  up  with  any  conditions.  But  I 
can  get  on  without  him  perfectly!  I  don't  want  to  marry 
him.     But  I  do  —  Ido  want  to  be  friends ! " 

"Lydia!  Mother  says  you'll  be  late  if  you  don't  get 
ready,"  said  a  voice  from  the  porch. 

"  Why,  I  am  ready !     I  have  only  to  put  on  my  hat." 

"Mother  thought  you'd  change." 

"Then  mother  was  quite  wrong.  My  best  cotton  frock 
is  good  enough  for  any  young  man! "  laughed  Lydia. 

Susan  descended  the  garden  steps.  She  was  a  much 
thinner  and  dimmer  version  of  her  sister.  One  seemed  to 
see  her  pale  cheeks,  her  dark  eyes  and  hair,  her  small 
mouth,  through  mist,  hke  a  Whistler  portrait.  She 
moved  very  quietly,  and  her  voice  was  low,  and  a  little 
dragging.  The  young  vicar  of  a  neighbouring  hamlet  in 
the  fells,  who  admired  her  greatly,  thought  of  her  as  play- 
ing "melancholy"  —  in  the  contemplative  Miltonic  sense 
—  to  Lydia's  "mirth."  She  was  a  mystery  to  him;  a 
mystery  he  would  have  liked  to  unravel.  But  she  was 
also  a  mystery  to  her  family.  She  shut  herself  up  a  good 
deal  with  her  books;  she  had  written  two  tragedies  in 
blank  verse;  and  she  held  feminist  views,  vague  yet  fierce. 
She  was  apparently  indifferent  to  men,  much  more  so 
than  Lydia,  who  frankly  preferred  their  society  to  that 
of  her  own  sex;  but  Lydia  noticed  that  if  the  vicar,  Mr. 
Franl<lin,  did  not  call  for  a  week  Susan  would  ingeniously 
invent  some  device  or  other  for  peremptorily  inducing 


170  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

him  to  do  so.  It  was  understood  in  the  family,  that  while 
Lydia  enjoyed  life,  Susan  only  endured  it.  All  the  same 
she  was  a  good  deal  spoilt.  She  breakfasted  in  bed, 
which  Mrs.  Penfold  never  thought  of  doing;  Lydia  mended 
her  stockings,  and  renewed  her  strings  and  buttons;  while 
Mrs.  Penfold  spent  twice  the  time  and  money  on  Susan's 
wardrobe  that  she  did  on  Lydia's.  There  was  no  reason 
whatever  for  any  of  these  indulgences;  but  when  three 
women  live  together,  one  of  them  has  only  to  sit  still,  to 
make  the  others  her  slaves.  Mrs.  Penfold  found  her  re- 
ward in  the  belief  that  Susan  was  a  genius  and  would 
some  day  astonish  the  world;  Lydia  had  no  such  illusion; 
and  yet  it  would  have  given  her  a  shock  to  see  Susan 
mending  her  own  stockings 

Susan  approached  her  now  languidly,  her  hand  to  her 
brow.     Lydia  looked  at  her  severely. 

"I  suppose  you  have  got  a  headache?" 

"A  little." 

"That's  because  you  will  go  and  write  poetry  directly 
after  lunch.     Why  it  would  even  give  me  a  headache!" 

"I  had  an  idea,"  said  Susan  plaintively. 

"What  does  that  matter?  Ideas '11  keep.  You  have 
just  to  make  a  note  of  them  —  put  salt  on  their  tails  — 
and  then  go  and  take  a  walk.  Indigestion,  my  dear  — 
which  is  the  plain  English  for  your  headache  —  is  very 
bad  for  ideas.  What  have  you  been  doing  to  your 
collar?" 

And  Lydia  took  hold  of  her  sister,  straightening  her 
collar,  pinning  up  her  hair,  and  generally  putting  her  to 
rights.  When  the  operation  was  over,  she  gave  a  little 
pat  to  Susan's  cheek  and  kissed  her. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  171 

"You  can  come  with  us  to  Thelfall,  that  would  take 
your  headache  away;  and  I  don't  mind  the  back  seat." 

"I  wasn't  asked,"  said  Susan  with  dignity.  "I  shall  go 
for  a  walk  by  myself.     I  want  to  think." 

Lydia  received  the  intimation  respectfully,  merely  rec- 
ommending her  sister  to  keep  out  of  the  sun;  and  was 
hurrying  into  the  house  to  fetch  her  hat  when  Susan  de- 
tained her. 

"Was  that  Lord  Tatham  who  came  just  now?" 

"It  was."  Lydia  faced  her  sister,  holding  up  the  note 
from  Lady  Tatham.  "  We  are  all  to  dine  with  them  next 
week." 

"He  has  been  here  nearly  every  other  day  for  a  fort- 
night," said  Susan,  with  feminine  exaggeration.  "It  is 
becoming  so  marked  that  everybody  talks." 

"Well,  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Lydia  defiantly.  "We  are 
not  a  convent;  and  we  can  hardly  padlock  the  gate." 

"  You  should  discourage  him  —  if  you  don't  mean  to 
marry  him." 

"My  dear,  I  like  him  so!"  cried  Lydia,  her  hands  be- 
hind her,  and  tossing  her  fair  head.  "  Marrying !  —  I  hate 
the  word." 

"He  cares  —  and  you  don't,"  said  Susan  slowly,  "that 
makes  it  very  unfair  —  to  him." 

Lydia  frowned  for  a  moment,  but  only  for  a  moment. 

"I'm  not  encouraging  him,  Susy  —  not  in  the  way  you 
mean.  But  why  should  I  drive  him  away,  or  be  rude  to 
him?  I  want  to  put  things  on  a  proper  footing  —  so  that 
he'll  understand." 

"He's  going  to  propose  to  you,"  said  Susan  bluntly. 

"Well,  then,  we  shall  get  it  over,"  said  Lydia,  reluc- 


172  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

tantly.  "And  you  don't  imagine  that  such  a  golden 
youth  will  trouble  about  such  a  trifle  for  long.  Think  of 
all  the  other  things  he  has  to  amuse  him.  Why,  if  I  broke 
my  heart,  you  know  I  should  still  want  to  paint,"  she 
added,  flippantly, 

"I'd  give  a  good  deal  to  see  you  break  your  heart!" 
said  the  tragedienne,  her  dark  eyes  kindling  —  "you'd 
be  just  splendid!" 

"Thanks,  awfully!     There's  the  pony." 

Susan  held  her. 

"You're  really  going  to  the  Tower.?" 

"I  am.  It's  mean  of  me.  When  you  hate  a  man,  you 
oughtn't  to  go  to  his  house.  But  I  can't  help  it.  I'm  so 
curious." 

"Yes,  but  not  about  Mr.  Melrose,"  said  Susan  slowly. 

Lydia  flushed  suddenly  from  brow  to  chin. 

"Goose!  let  me  go." 

Susan  let  her  go,  and  then  stood  a  while,  absorbed,  look- 
ing at  the  mysterious  Tower.  Her  power  of  visualization 
was  uncannily  strong;  it  amounted  almost  to  second  sight. 
She  seemed  to  be  in  the  Tower  —  in  one  of  its  locked  and 
shuttered  rooms;  to  be  looking  at  a  young  man  stretched 
on  a  sofa  —  a  wizardlike  figure  in  a  black  cloak  standing 
near  —  and  in  the  doorway,  Lydia  entering,  bringing  the 
light  on  her  fair  hair.     .     .     . 


vni 

TATHAiSI  had  to  open  the  gate  of  Threlfall  Park  for 
hunself.  The  lodge  beside  it,  of  the  same  date 
and  architecture  as  the  house,  had  long  ceased 
to  be  inhabited.  The  gate  was  a  substantial  iron  affair, 
and  carried  a  placard,  peremptorily  directing  the  person 
entering  to  close  it  behind  him.  And  on  either  side  of 
it,  the  great  wall  stretched  away  with  which,  some  ten 
years  before  this  date,  Melrose,  at  incredible  cost,  had 
surrounded  the  greater  part  of  his  property,  in  consequence 
of  a  quarrel  with  the  local  hunt,  and  to  prevent  its  mem- 
bers from  riding  over  his  land. 

Tatham,  having  carefully  shut  the  gate,  rode  slowly 
through  the  park,  casting  a  curious  and  hostile  eye  over 
the  signs  of  parsimonious  neglect  which  it  presented. 
Sheep  and  cattle  were  feeding  in  part  of  it;  part  of  it  was 
standing  for  hay;  and  everywhere  the  fences  were  ruinous, 
and  the  roads  grass-grown.  It  was,  Tatham  knew,  let 
out  to  various  small  farmers,  who  used  it  as  they  pleased. 
As  to  the  woods  which  studded  it,  "the  man  must  be  a 
simple  fool  who  could  let  them  get  into  such  a  state!" 
Tatham  prided  himseK  hugely  on  the  admirable  forestry 
with  which  the  large  tracts  of  woodland  in  his  own  prop- 
erty were  managed.  But  then  he  paid  a  proper  salary  to 
a  trained  forester,  a  man  of  education.  Melrose's  woods, 
with  their  choked  and  ruined  timber,  were  but  another 

173 


174  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

proof  that  a  miser  is,  scientifically,  only  a  species  of 
idiot. 

Only  once  before  in  his  life  had  he  been  within  the  park 
—  on  one  of  the  hunts  of  his  boyhood,  the  famous  occasion 
when  the  fox,  started  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  had 
made  straight  for  Threlfall,  and,  the  gate  closing  the  pri- 
vate foot-bridge  having  been,  by  a  most  unusual  chance, 
left  open,  had  sHpped  thereby  into  the  park,  with  the 
hounds  in  full  cry  after  him.  The  hunt  had  momentarily 
paused,  and  then  breaking  loose  from  all  control  had 
dashed  through  the  yard  of  the  Home  Farm  in  joyous 
pursuit,  while  the  enraged  Melrose,  who  with  Dixon  and 
another  man  had  rushed  out  wath  sticks  to  try  and  head 
them  back,  had  to  confine  himself  and  his  followers  to 
manning  the  enclosure  round  the  house  —  impotent  spec- 
tators of  the  splendid  run  through  the  park  —  which  had 
long  remained  famous  in  Cumbrian  annals.  Tatham  was 
then  a  lad  of  fourteen,  mounted  on  one  of  the  best  of 
ponies,  and  he  well  remembered  the  mad  gallop  which 
had  carried  him  past  the  Tower,  and  the  tall  figure  of  its 
furious  master.  The  glee,  the  mahcious  triumph  of  the 
moment  ran  through  his  pulses  again  as  he  thought  of  it. 

A  short-lived  triumph  indeed,  as  far  as  the  hunt  was 
concerned;  for  the  building  of  the  ten-foot  wall  had  fol- 
lowed, and  Melrose's  final  breach  with  the  gentry  of  his 
county.  Never  since  had  Tatham  set  foot  in  the  Ogre's 
demesne;  and  he  examined  every  feature  of  it  with  the 
most  lively  interest.  The  dilapidated  buildings  of  the 
Home  Farm  reminded  him  of  a  lawsuit  brought  by  a 
former  tenant  against  his  landlord,  in  wliich  a  story  of 
mean  and  rapacious  dealing  on  the  part  of  Melrose,  to- 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  175 

ward  a  decent  though  unfortunate  man,  had  excited  the 
disgust  of  the  whole  countryside.  Melrose  had  never 
since  been  able  to  find  a  tenant  for  the  farm,  and  the 
bailiff  he  had  put  in  was  a  drunken  creature  whose  mis- 
management of  it  was  notorious.  Such  doings  by  a  man 
so  inhumanly  shrewd  as  Melrose  in  many  of  his  affairs 
could  only  be  accounted  for  by  the  combination  in  him 
of  miserly  disUke  of  spending,  with  a  violent  self-will. 
Instances,  however,  had  been  known  when  to  get  his  own 
way,  or  gain  a  sinister  advantage  over  an  opponent,  Mel- 
rose had  been  wiUing  to  spend  extravagantly. 

After  passing  the  farm,  Tatham  pressed  on  eagerly, 
expecting  the  first  sight  of  the  house.  The  dense  growth 
of  shrub  and  creeper,  which  had  been  allowed  to  grow  up 
around  it,  the  home  according  to  the  popular  legend  of 
uncanny  multitudes  of  owls  and  bats,  tickled  imagination; 
and  Tatham  had  often  brought  a  field-glass  to  bear  upon 
the  house  from  one  of  the  neighbouring  hills.  But  as  he 
turned  the  last  corner  of  the  drive  he  drew  up  his  horse 
in  amazement. 

The  jungle  was  gone — !  and  the  simple  yet  stately  archi- 
tecture of  the  house  stood  revealed  in  the  summer  sun- 
shine. In  the  west  wing,  indeed,  the  windows  were  still 
shuttered,  and  many  of  them  overgrown  with  ivy;  but 
the  dingy  thickets  of  laurel  and  yew  were  everywhere 
shorn  away;  and  to  the  east  all  the  windows  stood  free  and 
open.  Moreover,  two  men  were  at  work  in  the  front 
garden,  clearing  the  flagged  paths,  traced  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  from  encumbrance,  and  laying  down  turf  in  a 
green  circle  round  one  of  the  small  classical  fountains  that 
stood  on  either  side  of  the  approach. 


176  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"What  on  earth  is  the  old  villain  up  to  now?"  was  the 
natural  comment  of  the  surprised  Tatham. 

Was  it  simply  the  advent  of  a  guest  —  an  invahd  guest 
—  that  had  wrought  such  changes? 

One  of  the  gardeners,  seeing  him  as  he  approached  the 
gate,  came  running  up  to  hold  his  horse.  Tatham,  who 
knew  everybody  and  prided  himself  on  it,  recognized  him 
as  the  son  of  an  old  Duddon  keeper. 

"  Well,  Backhouse,  you're  making  a  fine  clearance  here !" 

"Aye!  It's  took  us  days,  your  lordship.  But  »ve're 
about  through  wi'  this  side,  howivver."  He  pointed  to 
the  east  wing. 

"One  can  see  now  what  a  jolly  old  place  it  is,"  said 
Tatham,  pausing  in  the  gateway  to  survey  the  scene. 

Backhouse  grinned  responsively, 

"  I  do  beheve,  my  lord,  Muster  Melrose  hissel'  is  pleased. 
He  stood  a  lang  while  lookin'  at  it  this  morning,  afore  he 
started  oot." 

"Well,  no  one  can  deny  it's  an  improvement!"  laughed 
Tatham,  as  he  walked  toward  the  house. 

Dixon  had  already  opened  the  door.  Slave  and  facto- 
tum of  Melrose  as  he  was,  he  shared  the  common  liking  of 
the  neighbourhood  for  young  Lord  Tatham.  Two  of  his 
brothers  were  farmers  on  the  Duddon  estate;  and  one  of 
them  owed  his  recovery  from  a  dangerous  and  obscure 
illness  to  the  fact  that,  at  the  critical  moment,  Tatham 
had  brought  over  a  specialist  from  Leeds  to  see  him,  pay- 
ing all  expenses.  These  things  —  and  others  besides  — 
were  reflected  in  the  rather  tremulous  smile  with  which 
Dixon  received  the  visitor. 

"Mr.  Faversham  expects  me?" 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  177 

"Aye,  aye,  my  lord."  The  old  man  quickly  led  the  way 
through  the  front  hall,  more  quickly  than  Tatham's  curi- 
osity liked.  He  had  time  to  notice,  however,  the  domed 
and  decorated  ceiling,  the  classical  mantelpiece,  with  its 
medallions  and  its  pillars  of  Sienese  marble,  a  couple  of 
bold  Renaissance  cabinets  on  either  side,  and  a  central 
table,  resting  on  carved  sphinxes,  such  as  one  might  find 
in  the  sola  of  a  Venetian  palace. 

But  as  they  turned  into  the  corridor  or  gallery  Tatham's 
exclamation  brought  Dixon  to  a  halt.  He  faced  round 
upon  the  young  man,  revealing  a  face  that  worked  with 
hardly  repressed  excitement,  and  explained  that  the 
furnishing  and  arrangement  had  been  only  completed  that 
day.  It  had  taken  them  eight  days,  and  Barclay's  men 
were  only  just  gone. 

Tatham  frankly  expressed  his  surprise  and  admiration. 
The  whole  gallery  and  both  of  its  terminal  windows  had 
now  been  cleared.  The  famous  series  of  rose-coloured 
tapestries,  of  which  Undershaw  had  seen  the  first  speci- 
mens, had  been  hung  at  intervals  throughout  its  length; 
and  from  the  stores  of  the  house  had  been  brought  out 
more  carpets,  more  cabinets,  mirrors,  pictures,  fine  eigh- 
teenth-century chairs,  settees,  occasional  tables,  and  what 
not.  Hastily  as  it  had  been  done,  the  brilliance  of  the 
effect  was  great.  There  was  not,  there  could  not  be,  the 
beauty  that  comes  from  old  use  and  habit  —  from  the 
ordered  life  of  generations  moving  among  and  gradually 
adapting  to  itself  a  number  of  lovely  things.  Tatham 
brought  up  amid  the  surroundings  of  Duddon  was  scorn- 
fully conscious  of  the  bric-a-brac  element  in  the  show,  as 
he    stood    contemplating    Melrose's   latest    performance. 


178  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Nevertheless  a  fine  taste  had  presided  both  at  the  original 
selection  of  the  things  shown,  and  at  the  arrangement  of 
them  in  the  stately  gallery,  which  both  harmonized  and 
displayed  them. 

"There's  not  a  thing  yo'  see,  my  lord,  that  hasna  been 
here  —  i'  this  house  —  for  years  and  years!"  said  Dixon, 
pointing  a  shaky  finger  at  the  cabinets  on  either  side. 
"There's  soom  o'  them  has  been  i'  their  packing-cases  ever 
sin'  I  can  remember,  an'  the  carpets  rolled  up  aw  deep  in 
dust.  And  there's  not  a  thing  been  unpacked  now  i' 
the  house  itsel',  for  fear  o'  t'  dust,  an'  Mr.  Faversham. 
The  men  carried  it  aw  oot  o'  that  door" — he  pointed  to 
the  far  western  end  of  the  gallery — "an'  i  very  thing  was 
doon  out  o'  doors,  all  t'  carpets  beaten  an'  aw,  where  Mr. 
Faversham  couldna  hear  a  sound.  An'  yesterday  Muster 
Melrose  and  Muster  Faversham  —  we  browt  him  in  his 
wheeled  chair  yo'  unnerstan' —  fixed  up  a  lot  o'  things 
together.  We  havna  nailed  doon  th'  matting  yet,  for 
fear  o'  t'  noise.  But  Muster  Faversham  says  noo  he  won't 
mind  it." 

"Is  Mr.  Faversham  staying  on  some  time.''" 

"I  canno'  say,  my  lord,  I'm  sure,"  was  the  cautious 
reply.  "But  they  do  say  'at  he's  not  to  tak'  a  journey 
for  a  while  yet." 

Tatham's  curiosity  was  hot  within  him,  but  his  very 
dislike  of  Melrose  restrained  him  from  indulging  it.  He 
followed  Dixon  through  the  gallery  in  silence. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  new  sitting-room.  But  out- 
side on  some  newly  laid  grass,  Tatham  perceived  the  in- 
valid on  a  deck  chair,  with  a  table  holding  books  and 
cigarettes  beside  him. 


THE  :MATING  of  LYDIA  179 

Dixon  had  departed.     Faversham  offered  cigarettes. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Tatham,  "I  have  my  ot\ti." 

And  he  produced  his  case  with  a  smile,  handing  it  to 
Faversham. 

"A  drink?" 

Tatham  declined  again.  As  he  sat  there  smoking,  his 
hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  his  ruddy,  good- 
humoured  face  beaming  on  his  companion,  it  did  not  oc- 
cur to  Faversham  that  Tatham  was  thereby  refusing  the 
"salt"  of  an  enemy. 

"They'll  bring  some  tea  when  Mrs.  and  Miss  Penfold 
come,"  said  Faversham. 

Tatham  nodded,  then  grinned  irrepressibly. 

"I  say!  I  told  Miss  Penfold  she'd  find  you  in 
*piggery.'" 

Faversham's  dark  face  showed  a  certain  discomposure. 
Physical  dehcacy  had  given  a  peculiar  distinction  to  the 
gaunt  black  and  white  of  his  eyes,  hair,  and  complexion, 
and  to  the  thinness  of  his  long  frame,  so  that  Tatham,  who 
would  have  said  before  seeing  him  that  he  remembered 
him  perfectly,  found  himself  looking  at  him  from  time  to 
time  in  surprise.  As  to  his  surroundings,  Faversham 
appeared  not  only  willing  but  anxious  to  explain. 

"It's  a  queer  business, "  he  said  frankly.  "I  can  assure 
you  I  never  asked  for  anything,  never  wished  for  any- 
thing of  the  sort.  Everything  was  arranged  for  me  to  go 
to  Keswick  —  to  a  home  there  —  when  —  this  happened." 

"When  old  Melrose  broke  out!"  Tatham  threw  back 
his  head  and  gurgled  with  laughter.  "I  suppose  you  know 
that  nobody  but  yourself  has  ever  had  bite  or  sup  in  this 
house  for  twenty  years,  unless  it  were  some  of  the  dealers, 


180  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

who  —  they  say  —  come  occasionally.     What  have  you 
done  to  him?     You've  cast  a  spell  on  him!" 

Faversham  replied  again  that  he  had  done  nothing,  and 
was  as  much  puzzled  as  anybody. 

"My  mother  was  afraid  you  would  be  anything  but 
comfortable,"  said  Tatham.  "She  knows  this  gentleman 
of  old.  But  she  didn't  know  your  powers  of  soothing  the 
savage  breast !  However,  you  have  only  to  say  the  word, 
and  we  shall  be  delighted  to  take  you  in  for  as  long  as  you 
like." 

"Oh,  I  must  stay  here  now,"  said  Faversham  decidedly. 
"One  couldn't  be  ungrateful  for  what  has  been  done. 
But  my  best  thanks  to  Lady  Tatham  all  the  same.  I  hope 
I  may  get  over  to  see  her  some  day." 

"You  must,  of  course.  Dixon  tells  me  there  is  a  car- 
riage coming  —  perhaps  a  motor;  why  not!" 

A  flush  rose  in  Faversham's  pale  cheek. 

"Mr.  Melrose  talked  of  hiring  one  yesterday,"  he  said, 
unwillingly.     "How  far  are  you.f*" 

They  fell  into  talk  about  Duddon  and  the  neighbour- 
hood, avoiding  any  further  discussion  of  Melrose.  Then 
Faversham  described  his  accident,  and  spoke  warmly  of 
Undershaw,  an  occupation  in  which  Tatham  heartily 
joined. 

"I  owe  my  life  to  him,"  said  Faversham;  adding  with 
sudden  sharpness,  "I  suppose  I  must  count  it  an  advan- 
tage!" 

"That  would  be  the  common  way  of  looking  at  it!" 
laughed  Tatham.     "What  are  you  doing  just  now.f*" 
.    "Nothing  in  particular.     I  am  one  of  the  large  tribe 
of  briefless  barristers.     I  suppose  I've  never  given  enough 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  181 

of  my  niind  to  it.  The  fact  is  I  don't  like  the  law  — 
never  have.  I've  tried  other  things  —  fatal,  of  course! — 
but  they  haven't  come  off,  or  at  least  only  very  moderately. 
But,  as  you  may  suppose  —  I'm  not  exactly  penniless. 
I  have  a  few  resources  —  just  enough  to  Kve  on  —  with- 
out a  wife." 

Tatham  felt  a  little  awkward.  Faversham's  tone  was 
already  that  of  a  man  to  some  extent  disappointed  and 
embittered. 

"You  had  always  so  much  more  brains  than  the  rest  of 
us,"  he  said  cordially.     "You'll  be  all  right." 

"It's  not  brains  that  matter  nowadays  —  it's  money. 
What  do  you  get  by  brains.'  A  civil  service  appointment 
• —  and  a  pension  of  seven  hundred  a  year.  What's  the 
good  of  slaving  for  that.'* " 

Faversham  turned  to  his  companion  wdth  a  smile,  in 
which  however  there  was  no  good-humour.  It  made 
Tatham  disagreeably  conscious  of  his  own  wealth. 

"Well,  of  course,  there  are  the  prizes " 

"A  few.  So  few  that  they  don't  count.  A  man  may 
grind  for  years,  and  get  passed  over  or  forgotten — just  by  a 
shave  —  at  the  end.  I've  seen  that  happen  often.  Or 
you  get  on  swimmingly  for  a  while,  and  everybody  sup- 
poses you're  going  to  romp  in;  and  then  something  crops 
up  you  never  thought  of.  Some  boss  takes  a  dislike  to 
you  —  or  you  make  a  mistake,  and  cut  your  own  throat. 
And  there  you  are  —  pulled!" 

Tatham  was  silent  a  moment,  his  blunt  features  ex- 
pressing some  bewilderment .     Then  he  said — awkwardly : 

"So  you  don't  really  know  what  you're  going  to  take 
up.?" 


182  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Faversham  lit  another  cigarette. 

"Oh,  well,  I  have  some  friends  —  and  some  ideas.  If 
I  once  get  a  foothold,  a  beginning  —  I  daresay  I  could 
make  money  like  other  people.  Every  idiot  one  meets 
seems  to  be  doing  it." 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  into  politics  —  or  something  of  that 
kind.?" 

"I  want  to  remain  my  own  master,  and  do  the  things 
I  want  to  do  —  and  not  the  things  I  must  do,"  laughed 
Faversham.  "That  seems  to  me  the  dividing  line  in  life 
—  whether  you  are  under  another  man's  orders  or  your 
own.  And  broadly  speaking  it's  the  line  between  poverty 
and  money.  But  you  don't  know  much  about  it,  old 
fellow!"     He  looked  round  with  a  laugh. 

Tatham  screwed  up  his  blue  eyes,  not  finding  reply  very 
easy,  and  not  certain  that  he  liked  the  "old  fellow,"  though 
their  college  familiarity  justified  it.  He  changed  the  sub- 
ject, and  they  fell  into  some  gossip  about  Oxford  acquain- 
tances and  recollections,  which  kept  the  conversation 
going. 

But  at  the  end  of  it  the  two  men  were  each  secretly 
conscious  that  the  other  jarred  upon  him;  and  in  spite  of 
the  tacit  appeal  made  by  Faversham 's  physical  weakness 
and  evident  depression  to  Tatham 's  boundless  good- 
nature, there  had  arisen  between  them  at  the  end  an  in- 
cipient antagonism  which  a  touch  might  develop.  Faver- 
sham appeared  to  the  younger  man  as  querulous,  dis- 
contented, and  rather  sordidly  ambitious;  while  the  smiling 
optimism  of  a  youth  on  whom  Fortune  had  showered 
every  conceivable  gift  —  money,  position,  and  influence  — 
without  the  smallest  effort  on  his  own  part,  rang  false  or 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  183 

foolish  in  the  ears  of  his  companion.  Tatham,  cut  off 
from  the  county,  agricultural,  or  sporting  subjects  in  which 
he  was  most  at  home,  fumbled  a  good  deal  in  his  efforts  to 
adjust  himself;  while  Faversham  found  it  no  use  to  talk 
of  travel,  art,  or  music  to  one  who,  in  spite  of  an  artistic 
and  literary  mother  and  wonderful  possessions,  had  him- 
self neither  literary  nor  artistic  faculty,  and  in  the  pre- 
vailing manner  of  the  English  country  gentleman,  had 
always  found  the  pleasures  of  England  so  many  and 
superior  that  there  was  no  need  whatever  to  cross  the  Chan- 
nel in  pursuit  of  others.  Both  were  soon  bored;  and  Tat- 
ham would  have  hurried  his  departure,  but  for  the  hope 
of  Lydia.     With  that  to  fortify  him,  however,  he  sat  on. 

And  at  last  she  came.  Mrs.  Penfold,  it  will  easily  be 
imagined,  entered  upon  the  scene,  in  a  state  of  bewildered 
ravishment. 

"  She  had  never  expected  —  she  could  not  have  be- 
lieved —  it  was  like  a  fairy-tale  —  a  real  fairy-tale  — 
wasn't  the  house  too  beautiful  —  Mr.  Melrose's  iaste! — 
and  such  things!"  In  the  wake  of  this  soft,  gesticulating 
whirlwind,  followed  Lydia,  waiting  patiently  with  her 
bright  and  humorous  look  till  her  mother  should  give 
her  the  chance  of  a  word.  Her  gray  dre.^,  and  white  hat, 
her  little  white  scarf,  a  trifle  old-fashioned,  and  the  pansies 
at  her  belt  seemed  to  Tatham's  eager  eyes  the  very  perfec- 
tion of  dress.  He  watched  her  keenly  as  she  came  in;  the 
kind  look  at  Faversham;  then  the  start  —  was  it,  of  pity? 
—  for  his  altered  aspect,  the  friendly  greeting  for  himself; 
and  all  so  sweet,  so  detached,  so  composed.  His  heart 
sank,  he  could  not  have  told  why. 


184  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

"I  ought  to  have  warned  you  of  that  hill!"  she  said, 
standing  beside  Faversham,  and  looking  down  upon  him. 

"You  couldn't  know  I  was  such  a  duffer!"  laughed 
Faversham.  "It  wasn't  me  —  it  was  the  bike.  At  least, 
they  tell  me  so.  As  for  me,  everything,  from  the  moment 
I  left  you  till  I  woke  up  here  six  weeks  ago,  is  wiped  out. 
Did  you  finish  your  sketch.''  Were  the  press  notices 
good.''" 

She  smiled.     "Did  you  see  what  they  were.''" 

"  Certainly.     I  saw  your  name  in  one  as  I  picked  it  out." 

"I  still  sleep  with  it  under  my  pillow  —  when  I  feel 
low,"  said  Lydia.  "It  said  the  nicest  things.  And  I  sold 
my  pictures." 

"Magnificent!"  said  Faversham.  "But  of  course  you 
sold  them," 

"Oh,  no,  Mr.  Faversham,  not  *of  course'!"  cried  Mrs. 
Penfold,  turning  round  upon  him.  "You  can't  think  how 
Lydia  was  envied!  Hardly  anybody  sold.  There  were 
friends  of  hers  exhibiting  —  and  it  was  dreadful.  The 
secretary  said  they  had  hardly  ever  had  such  a  bad  year  — 
something  to  do  with  a  bank  breaking  —  or  the  influenza 
—  or  something.  But  Lydia,  lucky  girl,  sold  hers  within 
the  first  week.  And  we  don't  know  at  all  who  bought 
them.  The  secretary  said  he  was  not  to  tell.  There  are 
many  buyers,  he  told  us,  who  won't  give  their  names  — 
for  fear  of  being  bothered  afterward.  As  if  Lydia  would 
ever  bother  any  one!" 

The  guilty  Tatham  sat  with  his  cane  between  his  knees 
twirling  it,  his  eyes  on  the  ground.     No  one  noticed  him. 

"And  the  sketch  you  were  making  that  day.''"  said 
Faversham. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  185 

"As  you  liked  it,  I  brought  it  to  show  you,"  said  Lydia 
shyly.  And  she  produced  a  thin  parcel  she  had  been 
carrying  under  her  arm, 

Faversham  praised  the  drawing  warmly.  It  reminded 
him,  he  said,  of  some  work  he  had  seen  in  March,  at  one  of 
the  Bond  Street  galleries;  a  one-man  show  by  a  French 
water-colourist.     He  named  him.     Lydia  flushed  a  little. 

"Next  to  Mr.  Delorme" — she  glanced  gratefully  at 
Tatham  — "he  is  the  man  of  all  the  world  I  admire  most! 
I  am  afraid  I  can't  help  imitating  him." 

"But  you  don't!"  cried  Faversham.  "You  are  quite 
independent.     I  didn't  mean  that  for  a  moment." 

Lydia's  eyes  surveyed  him  with  a  look  of  amusement, 
which  seemed  to  say  that  she  was  not  at  all  duped  by  his 
compUment.     He  proceeded  to  justify  it. 

"I'll  tell  you  who  do  imitate  him " 

And  forthwith  he  began  to  show  a  remarkable  knowledge 
of  certain  advanced  groups  among  the  younger  artists  and 
their  work.  Lydia's  face  kindled.  She  listened;  she 
agreed;  she  interrupted;  she  gave  her  view;  it  was  evident 
that  the  conversation  both  surprised  and  delighted  her. 

Tea  came  out,  and,  at  Faversham's  invitation,  Lydia 
presided.  The  talk  between  her  and  Faversham  flowed 
on,  in  spite  of  the  girl's  pretty  efforts  to  make  it  general, 
to  bring  Tatham  into  it.  He  himself  defeated  her.  He 
wanted  to  listen;  so  did  Mrs.  Penfold,  who  sat  in  open- 
mouthed  wonder  at  Lydia's  cleverness;  while  Tatham 
was  presently  conscious  of  a  strong  discomfort,  a  jealous 
discomfort,  which  spoilt  for  him  this  nearness  to  Lydia, 
and  the  thrill  stirred  in  him  by  her  movements  and  tones, 
her  soft  laugh,  her  white  neck,  her  eves.     .     .     . 


186  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Here,  between  these  two  people,  Faversham  and  Lydia, 
who  had  only  seen  each  other  for  some  ten  minutes  in 
their  lives  before,  there  seemed  to  have  arisen,  at  once, 
an  understanding,  a  freemasonry,  such  as  he  himself 
had  never  reached  in  all  his  meetings  with  Lydia  Penfold. 

How  had  it  come  about?  They  talked  of  people, 
struggling  people,  to  whom  art  was  life,  though  also 
livelihood;  of  men  and  women,  for  whom  nothing  else 
counted,  beside  the  fascination  and  the  torment  of  their 
work;  Lydia  speaking  from  within,  as  a  humble  yet  devout 
member  of  the  band;  Faversham,  as  the  keen  spectator  and 
amateur  —  not  an  artist,  but  the  frequenter  of  artists. 

And  all  the  time  Lydia's  face  wore  a  happy  anima- 
tion which  redoubled  its  charm.  Faversham  was  clearly 
making  a  good  impression  upon  her,  was  indeed  set  on 
doing  so,  helped  always  by  the  look  of  delicacy,  th6  traces 
of  suffering,  which  appealed  to  her  pity.  Tatham  moved 
restlessly  in  his  chair,  and  presently  he  got  up,  and  pro- 
posed to  Mrs.  Penfold  that  they  should  examine  the  im- 
provements in  the  garden. 

When  they  returned,  Lydia  and  Faversham  were  still 
talking  and  still  absorbed. 

"Lydia,  my  dear,"  cried  her  mother,  "I  am  afraid  we 
shall  be  tiring  Mr.  Faversham!  Now  you  must  let  Lord 
Tatham  show  you  the  garden  —  that's  been  made  in  a 
week!  It's  like  that  part  in  'Monte  Cristo,'  where  he 
orders  an  avenue  at  breakfast-time,  that's  to  be  ready  by 
dinner  —  don't  you  remember.'^     It's  thrilling!" 

Lydia  rose  obediently,  and  Mrs.  Penfold  slipped  into 
her  seat.     Lydia,  strolling  with  Tatham  along  the  rampart 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  187 

wall  which  crowned  the  sandstone  chff,  was  now  and  then 
uncomfortably  aware  as  they  passed  the  tea-table  of  the 
soft  shower  of  questions  that  her  mother  was  raining  upon 
Faversham. 

"You  really  think,  Mr.  Faversham  " — the  tone  was 
anxiously  lowered  — "the  daughter  is  dead? —  the  daugh- 
ter and  the  mother?" 

"I  know  nothing!" 

"She  would  be  the  heiress?" 

"If  she  were  alive?  Morally,  I  suppose,  not  legally, 
unless  her  father  pleased." 

"Oh!  Mr.  Faversham!  —  but  you  would  never 
suggest " 

Lydia  came  to  the  rescue : 

"Mother,  really  we  ought  to  ask  for  the  pony -carriage." 

Faversham  protested,  but  Lydia  was  firm,  and  the  hand- 
bell beside  him  was  rung.  Mrs,  Penfold  flushed.  She 
quite  understood  that  Lydia  thought  it  unseemly  to  be 
putting  a  guest  through  a  string  of  questions  about  the 
private  affairs  of  his  host;  but  the  inveterate  gossip  in  her 
whimpered. 

"  You  see  when  one  has  watched  a  place  for  months  — 
and  people  tell  you  such  tales  —  and  you  come  and  find  it 
so  different  —  and  so  —  so  fascinating " 

She  paused,  her  plaintive  look,  under  her  wistful  eye- 
brows, appealing  to  Faversham  to  come  to  her  aid,  to 
justify  her  curiosity. 

Suddenly,  a  sound  of  wheels  from  the  front. 

Lydia  offered  her  hand  to  Faversham. 

"I'm  afraid  we've  tired  you!" 

"  Tired!     WTien  ^-ill  you  come  to  see  me  again? " 


188  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Will  it  be  permitted?"  She  laid  a  jBnger  on  her  lip, 
as  she  glanced  smiling  at  the  house. 

He  begged  them  to  repeat  their  visit.  Tatham  looked 
on  in  silence.  The  figure  of  Lydia,  delicately  bright 
against  the  dark  background  of  the  Tower,  absorbed  him, 
and  this  time  there  was  something  painful  and  strained 
in  his  perception  of  it.  In  his  first  meeting  with  her  that 
day  he  had  been  all  hopefulness  —  content  to  wait  and 
woo.  Now,  as  he  saw  her  with  Faversham,  as  he  per- 
ceived the  nascent  comradeship  between  them,  and  the 
reason  for  it,  he  felt  a  first  vague  suffering. 

A  step  approached  through  the  sitting-room  of  which 
the  door  was  open  to  the  terrace. 

The  two  ladies  escorted  by  Tatham  moved  toward 
the  house  expecting  Dixon  with  the  announcement  of 
their  carriage. 

A  tall  figure  stood  in  the  doorway.  There  was  a  checked 
exclamation  from  Tatham,  and  Faversham  perceived  to 
his  amazement  that  it  was  not  Dixon  —  but  —  Melrose' 

Melrose  surveyed  the  group.  Removing  his  old  hat  he 
bowed  gravely  to  the  ladies.  His  flowing  hair,  and  largely 
cut  classical  features  gave  him  an  Apollonian  aspect  as  he 
towered  above  the  startled  group,  looking  down  on  them 
with  an  expression  half  triumphant,  half  sarcastic.  Tat- 
ham was  the  first  to  recover  himself.  He  approached 
Melrose  with  a  coolness  like  his  own. 

"You  are  back  early,  sir?  I  apologize  for  my  intrusion, 
which  will  not  be  prolonged.  I  came,  as  you  see,  to  in- 
quire after  my  old  friend,  Mr.  Faversham." 

"So  I  understand.     Well  —  what's  wrong  with  him? 


THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA  18» 

Isn't  he  doing  well  —  eh?  Faversham,  will  you  introduce 
me  to  your  friends?" 

Mrs.  Penfold,  so  much  shaken  by  the  sudden  appearance 
of  the  Ogre  that  words  failed  her,  bowed  profoundly; 
Lydia  slightly.  She  was  indignant  for  Tatham.  Mr. 
Melrose,  having  announced  his  absence  for  the  day,  ought 
not  to  have  returned  upon  them  by  surprise,  and  his 
manner  convinced  her  that  it  had  been  done  on  purpose. 

"They  gave  you  tea?"  said  Melrose  to  Mrs.  Penfold, 
with  gruff  civility,  as  he  descended  the  steps.  "Oh,  we 
keep  open  house  nowadays.  You're  going?"  This  was 
in  answer  to  Tatham's  bow  which  he  slightly  acknowl- 
edged. "Good-day,  good-day!  You'll  find  your  horse. 
Sorry  you're  so  hurried." 

Followed  by  the  old  man's  insolent  eyes,  Tatham  shook 
hands  with  Faversham  and  the  Penfolds;  then  without 
reentering  the  house,  he  took  a  short  cut  across  the 
garden  and  disappeared. 

"Hm!"  said  Melrose,  looking  after  him,  "I  can't  say  he 
resembles  his  mother.     His  father  was  a  plain  fellow." 

No  one  answered  him.  Mrs.  Penfold  nervously  pressed 
for  her  carriage,  throwing  herself  on  the  help  of  Dixon, 
who  was  removing  the  tea  things.  Melrose  meanwhile 
seated  himself,  and  with  a  magnificent  gesture  invited  the 
ladies  to  do  the  same.  Mrs.  Penfold  obeyed;  Lydia  re- 
mained standing  behind  her  mother's  chair.  The  situa- 
tion reminded  her  of  a  covey  of  partridges  when  a  hawk  is 
hovering. 

Mrs.  Penfold  at  once  began  to  make  conversation,  say- 
ing the  most  dishevelled  things  for  sheer  fright.  Melrose 
threw  her  a  monosyllable  now  and  then,  reserving  all  his 


190  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

attention  for  the  young  girl,  whose  beauty  he  instantly 
perceived.  His  piercing  eyes  travelled  from  Faversham 
to  Lydia  repeatedly,  and  the  invalid  rather  angrily  divined 
the  conjectures  which  might  be  passing  in  their  owner's 
brain. 

"How  are  you?"  asked  Melrose  abruptly,  when  he 
returned  from  accompanying  the  Fenfolds  to  the  front 
door. 

Faversham  replied  with  some  coldness.  He  was  dis- 
gusted that  Melrose  should  have  spoilt  the  final  success 
of  his  little  festa  by  the  breach  of  a  promise  he  had  himself 
volunteered. 

But  Melrose  appeared  to  be  in  an  unusually  good 
temper,  and  he  took  no  notice.  He  had  had  considerable 
success  that  morning,  it  appeared,  at  an  auction  of  some 
fine  things  at  a  house  near  Carlisle;  having  not  only  se- 
cured what  he  wanted  himself,  but  having  punished  two 
or  three  of  his  most  prominent  rivals,  by  bidding  high  for 
some  inferior  thing,  exciting  their  competition,  and  then 
at  the  critical  moment  dropping  it  on  the  nose,  as  he  ex- 
plained it,  of  one  of  his  opponents.  "  Wilson  of  York  came 
to  me  nearly  in  tears,  and  implored  me  to  take  some 
beastly  pot  or  other  that  I  had  made  him  buy  at  a  ridic- 
ulous price.  I  told  him  he  might  keep  it,  as  a  reminder 
that  I  always  paid  those  out  who  bid  against  me.  Then 
I  found  I  could  get  an  earlier  train  home;  and  I  confess 
I  was  curious  to  see  how  young  Tatham  woidd  look,  on 
my  premises.  He  did  not  expect  that  I  should  catch  him 
here."     The  Ogre  chuckled. 

"You  told  me,  if  you  remember,"  said  Faversham,  not 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  191 

without  emphasis,  "that  I  was  to  say  to  him  you  would 
not  be  at  home." 

"I  know.  But  sometimes  there  are  impulses  —  of 
different  kinds  —  that  I  can't  resist.     Of  different  kinds 

".  repeated  Melrose,  his  glittering,  absent  look  fixed 

on  Faversham. 

There  was  silence  a  little.  Then  Melrose  said  slowly, 
as  he  rose  from  his  chair:  "I  have  —  a  rather  important 
proposition  to  make  to  you.  That  fellow  Undershaw 
would  attack  me  if  I  began  upon  it  now.  Moreover,  it 
will  want  a  fresh  mind.  Will  it  suit  you  if  I  come  to  see 
you  at  eleven  o'clock  to-morrow.''" 


rx 

ON  THE  following  morning,  Faversham,  for  the 
first  time,  dressed  without  assistance,  and  walked 
independently  —  save  for  his  stick  —  into  his  sit- 
ting-room. The  July  day  was  rather  chill  and  rainy  and 
he  decided  to  await  Melrose  indoors. 

As  to  the  "important  proposal"  his  mind  was  full  of 
conjectures.  What  he  thought  most  probable  was  that 
Melrose  intended,  according  to  various  fresh  hints  and 
indications,  to  make  him  another  and  a  more  serious  offer 
for  his  gems  —  no  doubt  a  big  offer.  They  were  worth  at 
least  three  thousand  pounds,  and  Melrose  of  course  knew 
their  value  to  a  hair. 

"Well,  I  shall  not  sell  them,"  thought  Faversham,  his 
hands  behind  his  head,  his  eyes  following  the  misty 
course  of  the  river,  and  the  rain  showers  scudding  over  the 
fells.     "I  shall  not  sell  them." 

His  mind  clung  obstinately  to  this  resolve.  His 
ambitions  with  regard  to  money  went, '  in  fact,  so  far 
beyond  anything  that  three  thousand  pounds  could 
satisfy,  that  the  inducement  to  sell  at  such  a  price  — 
which  he  knew  to  be  the  market  price  —  and  wound 
thereby  the  deepest  and  sincerest  of  his  affections,  was 
not  really  great.  The  little  capital  on  which  he  lived  was 
nearly  double  the  sum,  and  could  be  made  to  yield  a  fair 
income  by  small  and  judicious  speculation.     He  did  not 

192 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  193 

see  that  he  should  be  much  better  off  for  the  addition  to 
it  of  three  thousand  pounds;  and  on  the  other  hand,  were 
the  gems  sold,  he  should  have  lost  much  that  he  keenly 
valued  —  the  prestige  of  ownership;  the  access  which  it 
gave  him  to  circles,  learned  or  wealthy,  which  had  been 
else  closed  to  him;  the  distinction  attaching  thereby  to 
his  otherwise  obscure  name  in  catalogues  and  mono- 
graphs, English  or  foreign.  So  long  as  he  possessed  the 
"Mackworth  gems"  he  was,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  of 
connoisseurs,  at  any  rate,  a  personage.  Without  them 
he  was  a  personage  nowhere.  Every  month,  every  week, 
almost,  he  was  beginning  to  receive  requests  to  be  allowed 
to  see  and  study  them,  or  appeals  to  lend  them  for  exhibi- 
tion. In  the  four  months  since  his  uncle's  death,  both 
the  Louvre  and  the  Berlin  Museum  had  approached 
him,  offering  to  exhibit  them,  and  hinting  that  the  loan 
might  lead,  should  he  so  desire  it,  to  a  very  profitable 
sale.  If  he  did  anything  of  the  kind,  he  was  pledged 
of  course  to  give  the  British  Museum  the  first  chance. 
But  he  was  not  going  to  do  it  —  he  was  not  even  going  to 
lend  them  —  yet  a  while.  To  possess  them,  and  the 
kudo.'i  that  went  with  them;  not  to  sell  them,  for  senti- 
mental reasons,  and  even  at  a  money  loss,  made  a  poor 
man  proud,  and  ministered  in  strange  ways  to  his  self- 
respect,  which  went  often  rather  hungry;  gave  him,  in 
short,  a  standing  with  himself,  and  with  the  world.  All 
the  more,  that  the  poor  man's  mind  was  in  fact,  set 
passionately  on  the  conquest  of  wealth  —  real  and  sub- 
stantial wealth  —  to  which  the  paltry  sum  of  three 
thousand  pounds  bore  no  sort  of  relation. 

No,  he  would  not  sell  them.     But  he  braced  himself  to  a 


194  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

tussle  with  Melrose,  for  he  seemed  to  have  gathered  from 
a  number  of  small  indications  that  the  fierce  old  collector 
had  set  his  heart  upon  them.  And  no  doubt  this  business 
of  the  newly  furnished  rooms,  and  all  the  luxuries  that  had 
been  given  or  promised,  made  it  more  difficult  —  had 
been  intended,  perhaps,  to  make  it  more  difficult?  Well, 
he  could  but  say  his  No  and  depart,  expressing  his  grati- 
tude —  and  insisting  on  the  payment  of  his  score ! 

But  —  depart  where?  The  energies  of  renewed  health 
were  pulsing  through  him,  and  yet  he  had  seldom  felt 
more  stranded,  or,  except  in  connection  with  the  gems, 
more  insignificant,  either  to  himself  or  others;  in  spite 
of  this  palace  which  had  been  oddly  renovated  for  his 
convenience.  His  uncle's  death  had  left  him  singularly 
forlorn,  deprived  of  the  only  home  he  had  ever  possessed, 
and  the  only  person  who  felt  for  him  a  close  and  spon- 
taneous affection.  For  his  other  uncle  —  his  only  re- 
maining relation  —  was  a  crusty  and  selfish  widower, 
with  whom  he  had  been  on  little  more  than  formal  terms. 
The  rheumatic  gout  pleaded  in  the  letter  to  Undershaw 
had  been,  he  was  certain,  a  mere  excuse. 

Well  —  something  must  be  done;  some  fresh  path 
opened  up.  He  had  in  fact  left  London  in  a  kind  of  secret 
exasperation  with  himself  and  circumstance,  making  an 
excuse  out  of  meeting  the  Ransoms  —  mere  acquaint- 
ances —  at  Liverpool;  and  determined,  after  the  short 
tour  to  which  they  had  invited  him,  to  plunge  himself  for 
a  week  or  two  in  the  depths  of  a  Highland  glen  where  he 
might  fish  and  think. 

The  Ransoms,  machine  manufacturers  from  St.  Louis, 
had  made  matters  worse.     Such  wealth !  —  such  careless. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  195 

vulgar,  easily  gotten  wealth !  —  heaped  up  by  means  that 
seemed  to  the  outsider  so  facile,  and  were,  in  truth,  for  all 
but  a  small  minority,  so  difficult.  A  commonplace  man 
and  a  frivolous  woman;  yet  possessed,  through  their 
mere  money,  of  a  power  over  life  and  its  experiences, 
such  as  he,  Faversham,  might  strive  for  all  his  days  and 
never  come  near.  It  might  be  said  of  course  —  Herbert 
Ransom  would  probably  say  it  —  that  all  men  are 
worth  the  wages  they  get;  with  an  obvious  deduction  in 
his  own  case.  But  when  or  where  had  he  ever  got  his 
chance  —  a  real  chance?  Visions  of  the  rich  men  among 
his  acquaintance,  sleek,  half-breed  financiers,  idle,  con- 
ceited youths  of  the  "classes,"  pushed  on  by  family 
interest;  pig-headed  manufacturers,  inheritors  of  fortunes 
they  could  never  have  made;  the  fatteners  on  colonial 
land  and  railway  speculation  —  his  whole  mind  rose  in 
angry  revolt  against  the  notion  that  he  could  not  have 
done,  personally,  as  well  as  any  of  them,  had  there  only 
been  the  initial  shove,  the  favourable  moment. 

He  envied  those  who  had  beaten  him  in  the  race,  he 
frankly  admitted  it;  but  he  must  also  allow  himself  the 
luxury  of  despising  them. 

Melrose  was  late. 

Faversham  rose  and  hobbled  to  the  window,  his  hands 
on  his  sides,  frowning  —  a  gaunt  figure  in  the  rainy  light. 
With  the  return  of  physical  strength  there  had  come  a 
passionate  renewal  of  desire  —  desire  for  happiness  and 
success.  The  figure  of  Lydia  Penfold  hovered  perpetually 
in  his  mind.     Marriage!  —  his  whole  being,  moral  and 


196  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

physical,  cried  out  for  it.  But  how  was  he  ever  to  marry? 
—  how  could  he  ever  give  such  a  woman  as  that  the  setting 
and  the  scope  she  could  reasonably  claim? 

"A  bad  day!"  said  a  harsh  voice  behind  him,  "but  all 
the  better  for  business." 

Faversham  turned  to  greet  his  host,  the  mental  and 
physical  nerves  tightening. 

"Good  morning.  Well,  here  I  am"  —  his  laugh 
showed  his  nervousness  —  "at  your  disposal." 

He  settled  himself  in  his  chair.  Melrose  took  a  ciga- 
rette from  the  table,  and  offered  one  to  his  guest.  He 
lit  and  smoked  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  then  began 
to  speak  with  deliberation: 

"I  gather  from  our  conversations,  Faversham,  during 
the  last  few  weeks  that  you  have  at  the  present  moment 
no  immediate  or  pressing  occupation?" 

Quick  colour  leapt  in  Faversham's  lean  cheek. 

"That  is  true.  It  happens  to  be  true  —  for  various 
reasons.  But  if  you  mean  to  imply  by  that,  that  I  am 
necessarily  —  or  willingly  —  an  idler,  you  are  mis- 
taken." 

"I  did  not  mean  to  imply  anything  of  the  kind.  I 
merely  wished,  so  to  speak,  to  clear  the  way  for  what 
I  have  to  propose." 

Faversham  nodded.     Melrose  continued: 

"For  clearly  it  would  be  an  impertinence  on  my  part 
were  I  to  attempt  —  suddenly  —  to  lift  a  man  out  of  a 
fixed  groove  and  career,  and  suggest  to  him  another.  I 
should  expect  to  be  sent  to  the  devil  —  and  serve  me 
right.  But  in  your  case  —  correct  me  if  I  am  wrong  — 
you  seem  not  yet  to  have  discovered  the  groove  that 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  197 

suits  you.     Now  I  am  here  to  propose  to  you  a  groove 

—  and  a  career." 

Faversham  looked  at  him  with  astonishment.  The 
gems,  which  had  been  so  urgently  present  to  his  mind, 
receded  from  it.  Melrose  in  his  skullcap,  sitting  side- 
ways in  his  chair,  his  cigarette  held  aloft,  presented  a 
profile  which  might  have  been  that  of  some  Venetian 
Doge,  old,  withered  and  crafty,  engaged,  say,  in  negotia- 
tion with  a  Genoese  envoy. 

"When  you  were  first  brought  here,"  Melrose  con- 
tinued —  "your  presence,  as  Undershaw  has  no  doubt 
told  you  —  of  course  he  has  told  you,  small  blame  to 
him  —  was  extremely  distasteful  to  me.     I  am  a  recluse. 

I   like  no  women  —  and  d d  few   men.     I   can  do 

without  them,  that's  all;  their  intimate  company,  any- 
way: and  my  pursuits  bring  me  all  the  amusement  I 
require.  Such  at  any  rate  was  my  frame  of  mind  up  to 
a  few  weeks  ago.  I  don't  apologize  for  it  in  the  least. 
Every  man  has  a  right  to  his  ovra  idiosyncrasies.  But 
I  confess  that  your  society  during  the  last  few  weeks  — 
I  am  in  no  mood  for  mere  compliment  —  has  had  a 
considerable  effect  upon  me.  It  has  revealed  to  me 
that  I  am  no  longer  so  young  as  I  was,  or  so  capable 

—  apparently  —  of  entertaining  myself.  At  any  rate 
your  company  —  I  put  it  quite  frankly  —  instead  of 
being  a  nuisance  —  has  been  a  godsend.  It  has  turned 
out  that  we  have  many  of  the  same  tastes;  and  your 
inheritance  of  the  treasures  collected  by  my  old  friend 
Mackworth"  —  ("Ah!"  thought  Faversham,  "now  we 
come  to  it!")  —  "has  made  from  the  first,  I  think,  a 
link  between  us.     Have  I  your  assent.'*" 


198  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Certainly." 

Melrose  paused  a  moment,  and  then  resumed.  The 
impression  he  made  was  that  of  one  rehearsing,  point  by 
point,  a  prepared  speech. 

"At  the  same  time,  I  have  become  more  aware  than 
usual  of  the  worries  and  annoyances  connected  with  the 
management  of  my  estates.  We  live,  sir,  in  a  world  of 
robbers  "  —  Melrose  suddenly  rounded  on  his  companion, 
his  withered  face  aflame  —  "a  world  of  robbers,  and  of 
rapine!  Not  a  single  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  in  these 
parts  that  doesn't  think  himself  my  equal  and  more. 
Not  a  single  tenant  on  my  estate  that  doesn't  try  at 
every  point  to  take  advantage  of  his  landlord!  Not  a 
single  tramp  or  poacher  that  doesn't  covet  my  goods  — 
that  wouldn't  murder  me  if  he  could,  and  sleep  like  a 
baby  afterward.  I  tell  you,  sir,  we  shall  see  a  jacquerie 
in  England,  before  we  are  through  with  these  ideas  that 
are  now  about  us  like  the  plague;  that  every  child  im- 
bibes from  our  abominable  press !  —  that  our  fools  of 
clergy  —  our  bishops  even  —  are  not  ashamed  to  preach. 
There  is  precious  little  sense  of  property,  and  not  a  single 
rag  of  loyalty  or  respect  left  in  this  country!  But  when 
you  think  of  the  creatures  that  rule  us  —  and  the  fanatics 
who  preach  to  us  —  and  the  fools  who  bring  up  our 
children,  what  else  can  you  expect!  The  whole  state 
is  rotten!  The  men  in  our  great  to\\Tis  are  ripe  for  any 
revolutionary  villainy.  We  shall  come  to  blood,  Faver- 
sham!"  —  he  struck  his  hand  violently  on  the  arm  of 
his  chair  —  "and  then  a  dictator  —  the  inevitable  round. 
Well,  I  have  done  my  part.  I  have  fought  the  battle  of 
property  in  this  country  —  the  battle  of  every  squire  in 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  199 

Cumbria,  if  the  dolts  did  but  know  their  own  interests. 
Instead  they  have  done  nothing  but  thwart  and  bully  me 
for  twenty  years.  And  young  Tatham  with  his  County 
Council  nonsense,  and  his  popularity  hunting,  is  one  of  the 
very  worst  of  them!  Well,  now  I've  done!  —  personally. 
I  daresay  they'll  crow  —  they'll  say  I'm  beat.  Anyway, 
I've  done.  There'll  have  to  be  fighting,  but  some  one 
else  must  see  to  it.  I  intend  to  put  my  affairs  into  fresh 
hands.  It  is  my  purpose  to  appoint  a  new  agent  —  and 
to  give  him  complete  control  of  my  property!" 

Melrose  stopped  abruptly.  His  hard  eyes  in  their  deep, 
round  orbits  were  fixed  on  Faversham.  The  young  man 
was  mainly  conscious  of  a  half-hysterical  inchnation  to 
laugh,  which  he  strangled  as  he  best  could.  Was  he  to  be 
offered  the  post.f^ 

"And,  moreover,"  Melrose  resumed,  "I  want  a  secre- 
tary —  I  want  a  companion  —  I  want  some  one  who  will 
help  me  to  arrange  the  immense,  the  priceless  collections 
there  are  stacked  in  this  house  —  unknown  to  anybody  — 
hardly  known,  in  the  lapse  of  years,  even  to  myseK.  I 
desire  to  unravel  my  own  web,  so  to  speak  —  to  spin  off 
my  o^\Ti  silk  —  to  examine  and  analyze  what  I  have 
accumulated.  There  are  rooms  here  —  containing  master- 
pieces  —  unique  treasures  —  that  have  never  been  opened 
for  years  —  whose  contents  I  have  myself  forgotten. 
That's  why  people  call  me  a  madman.  Why?  What 
did  I  want  with  a  big  establishment  eating  up  my  income? 
—  with  a  lot  of  prying  idiots  from  outside  —  museum 
bores,  bothering  me  for  loans  —  common  tourists,  offer- 
ing impertinent  tips  to  my  housekeeper,  or  picking  and 
stealing,  perhaps,  when  her  back  was  turned!     I  bought 


200  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

the  things,  and  shut  them  up.  They  were  safe,  anyway. 
But  now  that  process  has  gone  on  for  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury. You  come  along.  A  chance  —  a  freak  —  a  ca- 
price, if  you  hke,  makes  me  arrange  these  rooms  for  you. 
That  gives  me  new  ideas " 

He  turned  and  looked  with  sharp,  slow  scrutiny  round 
the  walls: 

"The  fact  is  I  have  been  so  far  engaged  in  hoarding  — 
heaping  together.  The  things  in  this  house  —  my  extra- 
ordinary collections  —  have  been  the  nuts  —  and  I,  the 
squirrel.  But  now  the  nuts  are  bursting  out  of  the  hole, 
and  the  squirrel  wants  to  see  what  he's  got.  That  brings 
me  to  my  point!" 

He  turned  emphatically  toward  Faversham,  leaning 
hard  on  a  marqueterie  table  that  stood  between  them : 

"I  offer  you,  sir,  the  post,  the  double  post,  of  agent  to 
my  property,  and  of  private  secretary,  or  assistant  to  my- 
self. I  offer  you  a  salary  of  three  thousand  a  year  — 
three  thousand  pounds,  a  year  —  if  you  will  undertake  the 
management  of  my  estates,  and  be  my  lieutenant  in  the 
arrangement  of  my  collections.  I  wish  —  as  I  have  said 
—  to  unpack  this  house;  and  I  should  like  to  leave  my 
property  in  order  before  I  die.  Which  reminds  me,  I 
should  of  course  be  perfectly  ready  to  make  proper  pro- 
vision, by  contract,  or  otherwise,  so  that  in  the  event  of 
any  sudden  termination  of  our  agreement  —  my  death 
for  instance  —  you  should  be  adequately  protected. 
Well,  there,  in  outline,  is  my  proposal!" 

During  this  extraordinary  speech  Faversham's  coun- 
tenance had  reflected  with  tolerable  clearness  the  various 
impressions  made  by  it  —  incredulous  or  amused  astonish- 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  201 

ment  —  bewilderment  —  deepening  gravity  —  coming 
round  again  to  astonishment.  He  raised  himself  in  his 
chair. 

"  You  wish  to  make  me  your  agent  —  the  agent  for 
these  immense  estates.?" 

"I  do.  I  had  an  excellent  agent  once  —  twenty  years 
ago.  But  old  Dovedale  stole  him  from  me  —  bribed  him 
by  higher  pay.  Since  then  I  have  had  nothing  but  clerks 
- —  rent-collectors  —  rascally  makeshifts,  all  of  them." 

"But  I  know  nothing  about  land  —  I  have  had  no 
experience!" 

"A  misfortune  —  but  in  some  ways  to  the  good.  I 
don't  want  any  cocksure  fellow,  with  brand-new  ideas 
lording  it  over  me.     I  should  advise  you  of  course." 

"  But  —  at  the  same  time  —  I  should  not  be  content 
with  a  mere  clerk's  place,  Mr.  Melrose,"  said  Faver- 
sham,  a  momentary  flash  in  his  dark  eye.  "I  am  one  of 
those  men  who  are  better  as  principals  than  as  subordi- 
nates.    Otherwise  I  should  be  in  harness  by  now." 

Melrose  eyed  him  askance  for  a  moment  —  then  said: 
"I  understand.  I  should  be  willing  to  steer  my  course 
accordingly  —  to  give  you  a  reasonable  freedom.  There 
are  two  old  clerks  in  the  estate-office,  who  know  every- 
thing that  is  to  be  known  about  the  property,  and  there 
are  my  solicitors  both  in  Carlisle  and  Pengarth.  For  the 
rest,  you  are  a  lawyer,  and  there  are  some  litigations 
pending.  Your  legal  knowledge  would  be  of  considerable 
service.  If  you  are  the  clever  fellow  I  take  you  for,  a 
month  or  two's  hard  work,  the  usual  technical  books, 
some  expert  advice  —  and  I  have  little  doubt  you  would 
make  as  good  an  agent  as  any  of  them.     Mind,  I  am  not 


202  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

prepared  to  spend  unlimited  money  —  nor  to  run  my 
estates  as  a  Socialist  concern.  But  I  gather  you  are  as 
good  a  Conservative  as  myself." 

Faversham  was  silent  a  moment,  observing  the  man 
before  him.  The  whole  thing  was  too  astounding.  At 
last  he  said:  "You  are  not  prepared,  sir,  you  say,  to  spend 
unlimited  money.  But  the  sum  you  offer  me  is  unheard 
of." 

"For  an  agent,  yes  —  for  a  secretary,  yes  —  for  a  com- 
bination of  the  two,  under  the  peculiar  circumstances,  the 
market  offers  no  precedents.  You  and  I  make  a  market 
—  and  a  price." 

"You  would  expect  me  to  live  in  this  house.'^" 

"I  gather  these  rooms  are  not  disagreeable  to  you.?" 

"Disagreeable!  They  are  too  sumptuous.  If  /  did 
this  thing,  sir,  I  should  want  to  do  it  in  a  businesslike 
way." 

"You  want  an  office.''  Take  your  choice."  Melrose's 
gesture  indicated  the  rest  of  the  house.  "There  are 
rooms  enough.  But  you  will  want  some  place,  I  imagine, 
where  you  can  be  at  home,  receive  friends  —  hke  the 
young  lady  and  her  mother  yesterday  —  and  so  on." 

His  smile  made  him  more  Ogreish  than  before. 

He  resumed: 

"And  by  the  way,  if  you  accepted  my  proposal,  I 
should  naturally  expect  that  for  a  time  you  would  devote 
yourself  wholly  to  the  organization  of  the  collections, 
inside  the  house,  and  to  the  work  of  the  estate,  outside  it. 
But  you  are  of  an  age  when  a  man  hopes  to  marry.  I 
should  of  course  take  that  into  account.  In  a  year  or 
two " 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  203 

"Oh,  I  have  no  immediate  ideas  of  that  kind,"  said 
Favershara,  hastily. 

There  was  a  pause.  At  the  end  of  it  Faversham  turned 
on  his  companion.  A  streak  of  feverish  colour,  a  sparkling 
vivacity  in  the  eyes,  showed  the  ejffect  produced  by  the 
conversation.  But  he  had  kept  his  head  throughout  the 
whole  interview,  and  a  certain  unexpected  strength  in  his 
personality  had  revealed  itself  to  Melrose : 

"You  will  hardly  expect  me,  sir,  to  give  an  immediate 
ansv\^er  to  these  proposals?" 

"Take  your  time  —  take  your  time  —  in  moderation," 
said  Melrose,  drumming  on  the  table  before  him. 

"And  there  are  of  course  a  few  things  that  I  on  my 
side  should  wish  to  know." 

A  series  of  inquiries  followed:  as  to  the  term  of  the 
proposed  engagement;  the  degree  of  freedom  that  would 
be  granted  him;  the  date  at  which  his  duties  would 
begin,  supposing  he  undertook  them  —  ("To-morrow,  if 
it  pleases  you!"  said  Melrose,  jovially)  — passing  on  to 
the  general  circumstances  of  the  estates,  and  the  nature 
of  the  pending  litigations.  The  questions  were  put  with 
considerable  tact,  but  were  none  the  less  shrewd.  Mel- 
rose's strange  character  with  its  mixture  of  sagacity,  folly, 
and  violence,  had  never  been  more  acutely  probed  — 
though  quite  indirectly. 

At  the  end  of  them  his  companion  rose. 

"You  have  a  talent  for  cross-examination,"  he  said 
with  a  rather  sour  smile.  "I  leave  you.  We  have  talked 
enough." 

"Let  me  at  least  exjDress  before  you  go  the  gratitude  I 
feel  for  proposals  so  flattering  —  so  generous,"  said  Faver- 


204  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

sham,  not  without  emotion;  "and  for  all  the  kindness  I 
have  received  here,  a  kindness  that  no  man  could  ever 
forget." 

Melrose  looked  at  him  oddly,  seemed  about  to  speak 
—  then  muttered  something  hardly  intelligible,  ceased 
abruptly,  and  departed. 

The  master  of  the  Tower  went  slowly  to  his  library 
through  the  splendid  gallery,  where  Mrs.  Dixon  and 
the  new  housemaid  were  timidly  dusting.  But  he  took  no 
notice  of  them.  He  went  into  his  own  room,  locked  his 
door,  and  having  lit  his  own  fire,  he  settled  down  to  smoke 
and  ruminate.  He  was  exhausted,  and  his  seventy  years 
asserted  themselves.  The  radical  alteration  in  his  habits 
and  outlook  which  the  preceding  six  weeks  had  produced, 
the  excitement  of  unpacking  the  treasures  now  displayed 
in  the  gallery,  the  constant  thinkings  and  plannings  con- 
nected with  Faversham  and  the  future,  and,  lastly,  the 
interview  just  concluded,  had  tried  his  strength.  Certain 
symptoms  —  symptoms  of  old  age  —  annoyed  him  though 
he  would  not  admit  it.  No  doubt  some  change  was 
wanted.  He  must  smoke  less  —  travel  less  —  give  him- 
self more  variety  and  more  amusement.  Well,  if  Faver- 
sham consented,  he  should  at  least  have  bought  for 
himself  a  companionship  that  was  agreeable  to  him,  and 
relief  from  a  number  of  routine  occupations  which  he 
detested. 

Suddenly  —  a  child's  voice  —  a  child's  shrill  voice, 
ringing  through  the  gallery  —  followed  by  scufflings  and 
bushings,  on  the  part  of  an  older  person  —  then  a  wail  — 
and  silence.     Melrose  had  risen  to  his  feet  with  an  excla- 


THE  INIATING  OF  LYDIA  205 

mation.  Some  peculiar  quality  in  the  voice  —  some 
passionate,  thrilling  quality  —  had  produced  for  the  mo- 
ment an  extraordinary  illusion. 

He  recovered  himself  in  a  moment.  It  was  of  course 
the  child  of  the  upholstress  who  had  been  working  in  the 
house  for  a  week  or  so.  He  remembered  to  have  noticed 
the  httle  girl.  But  the  sound  had  inevitably  suggested 
thoughts  he  had  no  wish  to  entertain.  He  had  a  letter  in 
his  pocket  at  that  moment  which  he  did  not  mean  to 
answer  —  the  first  he  had  received  for  many  years.  If 
he  once  allowed  a  correspondence  to  grow  up  —  with 
that  individual  —  on  the  subject  of  money,  there  would 
be  no  end  to  it;  it  would  spread  and  spread,  till  his  free- 
dom was  once  more  endangered.  He  did  not  intend  that 
persons,  who  had  been  once  banished  from  his  life,  should 
reenter  it  —  on  any  pretext.  Netta  had  behaved  to  him 
like  a  thief  and  a  criminal,  and  with  the  mother  went  the 
child.  They  were  nothing  to  him,  and  never  should  be 
anything.  If  she  was  in  trouble,  let  her  go  to  her  own 
people. 

He  took  out  the  letter,  and  dropped  it  into  the  midst  of 
the  burning  logs  before  him.  Then  he  turned  to  a  heap  of 
sale  catalogues  lying  near  him,  and  after  going  through 
them,  he  rose,  and  as  though  drawn  to  it  by  a  magnetic 
power,  he  went  to  the  Riesener  table,  and  unlocked  the 
drawer  which  held  the  gems. 

Bringing  them  back  to  the  fireside  he  watched  the  play 
of  the  flames  on  their  shining  surfaces,  delighting  greedily 
in  their  beauty;  in  the  long  history  attaching  to  each  one 
of  them,  every  detail  of  which  he  knew;  in  the  sense  of  their 
uniqueness.    Nothing  like  them  of  their  kind,  anywhere; 


206  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

and  there  they  were  in  his  hand,  after  these  years  of  fruit- 
less coveting.  He  had  often  made  Mackworth  offers  for 
them;  and  Mackworth  had  laughed  at  him. 

Well,  he  had  bid  high  enough  this  time,  not  for  the 
gems  themselves,  but  for  the  chance  of  some  day  persuad- 
ing their  owner  to  entertain  the  notion  of  selling  them.  It 
pleased  him  to  guess  at  what  had  been  probably  Faver- 
sham's  secret  expectation  that  morning  of  a  proposal  for 
them;  and  to  think  that  he  had  baffled  it. 

He  might,  of  course,  have  made  some  quite  preposterous 
offer  which  would  have  forced  the  young  man's  hand.  But 
that  might  have  meant,  probably  would  have  meant,  the 
prompt  departure  of  the  enriched  Faversham.  But  he 
wanted  both  Faversham  and  the  gems;  as  much  as  pos- 
sible —  that  is,  for  his  money.  The  thought  of  returning 
to  his  former  solitariness  was  rapidly  becoming  intolerable 
to  him.  Meanwhile  the  adorable  things  were  Still  under 
his  roof;  and  with  a  mad  pleasure  he  relocked  the  drawer. 

Faversham  spent  the  rest  of  the  morning  in  cogitations 
that  may  be  easily  imagined.  He  certainly  attributed 
some  share  in  the  extraordinary  proposal  that  had  been 
made  to  him,  to  his  possession  of  the  gems,  and  to  Mel- 
rose's desire  to  beguile  them  from  him.  But  what  then? 
Sufficient  for  the  day!  He  would  decide  how  to  deal 
with  that  crisis  when  it  should  arrive. 

Meanwhile,  the  amazing  proposal  itself  was  before  him. 
If  it  were  accepted,  he  should  be  at  once  a  comparatively 
rich  man,  with  an  infinity  of  chances  for  the  future;  for 
Melrose's  financial  interest  and  influence  were  immense. 
If  not  free  to  marry  immediately,  he  would  certainly  be 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  207 

free  —  as  Melrose  himself  had  hinted  —  to  prepare  for 
marriage.  But  could  he  do  the  work?  —  could  he  get  on 
with  the  old  man?  —  could  he  endure  the  life? 

After  luncheon  Dixon,  with  the  subdued  agitation  of 
manner  which  showed  the  advent  of  yet  another  change 
in  the  household,  came  in  to  announce  that  a  motor  had 
come  from  Carhsle,  that  Mr.  Melrose  did  not  propose  to 
use  it  himself,  and  hoped  that  Mr.  Faversham  would 
take  a  drive. 

It  was  the  invahd's  first  excursion  into  the  outer  world. 

He  sat  breathing  in  great  draughts  of  the  scented 
summer  air,  feeling  his  hfe  and  strength  come  back  into 
him. 

The  rain  had  passed,  and  the  fells  rose  clear  and  high 
above  the  moist  hay  meadows  and  the  fresh-leaved  trees. 

As  they  emerged  upon  the  Keswick  road  he  tapped 
the  chauffeur  on  the  shoulder.  "Do  you  know  Green 
Cottage?" 

"Mrs.  Penfold's,  sir?     Certainly." 

"How  far  is  it?" 

"I  should  say  about  two  miles." 

"Go  there,  please." 

The  two  miles  passed  for  Faversham  in  a  double  excite- 
ment he  had  some  difficulty  in  conceahng;  the  physical 
excitement  of  change  and  movement,  of  this  reentry 
upon  a  new  world,  which  was  the  old;  and  the  mental 
excitement  of  his  own  position. 

At  the  cottage  door,  he  dismounted  slowly.  The  maid- 
servant said  she  thought  Mrs.  Penfold  was  in  the  garden. 
Would  the  gentleman  please  come  in? 

Faversham,  leaning  on  his  stick,  made  his  way  through 


208  THE  :\L\TIXG  OF  LYDIA 

the  tiny  hall  of  the  cottage,  and  the  drawing-room  door 
was  thrown  open  for  him.  A  young  lady  was  sitting 
at  the  farther  end,  who  rose  with  a  sUght  cr\-  of  astonish- 
ment.    It  was  Lydia. 

Through  her  reception  of  him  Faversham  soon  learnt 
what  are  the  pri%-ileges  of  the  wounded,  and  how  glad  are 
all  good  women  of  excuses  to  be  kind.  Lydia  placed  him  in 
the  best  chair,  in  front  of  the  best  %-iew,  ordered  tea,  and 
hovered  round  him  with  an  eager  benevolence.  Her 
mother,  she  said,  would  be  in  directly.  Faversham.  on 
his  side,  could  only  secretly  hope  that  Mrs.  Penfold's 
walk  might  be  prolonged. 

They  were  not  interrupted.  Lydia,  with  concern,  con- 
jectured that  Mrs.  Penfold  and  Susan  had  gone  to  \isit 
a  couple  of  maiden  ladies,  h\-ing  half  a  mile  off  along  the 
road.  But  she  showed  not  the  smallest  awkwardness  in 
entertaining  her  guest.  The  rain  of  the  morning  had 
left  the  air  chilly,  and  a  wood  fire  burnt  on  the  hearth. 
Its  pleasant  flame  gave  an  added  touch  of  intimity  to 
the  httle  drawing-room,  with  its  wild  flowers,  its  books, 
its  water-colours,  and  its  modest  furnishings.  After  the 
long  struggle  of  his  illness,  and  the  excitement  of  the 
morning.  Faversham  was  both  soothed  and  charmed. 
His  whole  nature  relaxed;  happiness  flowed  in.  Presently, 
on  an  impulse  he  could  not  resist,  he  told  her  of  the  offer 
which  had  been  made  to  him. 

Lydia's  embroidery  dropped  on  her  lap. 

"Mr.  Melrose's  agent  I"  she  repeated,  in  wonder.     "He 
has  offered  you  that?" 

"He  has  —  on  most  generous  terms.     Shall  I  take  it?" 

She  flushed  a  httle,  for  the  ardent  deference  in  his 


THE  ]\L\TING  OF  LYDIA  209 

eyes  was  not  easy  to  ignore.  But  she  examined  his  news 
seriously  —  kindhng  over  it. 

"His  agent  —  agent  for  his  miserable,  neglected  prop- 
erty!    Heavens,  what  a  chance!" 

She  looked  at  him.  her  soul  in  her  face.  Something 
warned  him  to  be  cautious. 

"You  think  it  so  neglected.'" 

"I  know  it:  but  ask  Lord  Tatham!  He's  chairman  of 
some  committee  or  other  —  he'll  tell  you." 

"But  perhaps  I  shall  have  to  fight  Tatham.^  Suppose 
that  turns  out  to  be  my  chief  business.'" 

"Oh.  no.  you  can't  —  you  can't!  He's  too  splendid  — 
in  all  those  things." 

"He  is  of  course  the  model  youth."  said  Faversham 
dryly. 

"Ah,  but  you  can't  hate  him  either!"  cried  Lydia, 
divining  at  once  the  shade  of  depreciation.  "He  is  the 
kindest,  dearest  fellow!  I  agree  —  it's  provoking  not  to 
be  able  to  sniff  at  him  —  such  a  Prince  Charming  —  with 
all  the  world  at  his  feet.  But  one  can't  —  one  really 
can't!" 

Jealousy  sprang  up  sharply  in  Faversham,  though  a 
wider  experience  of  the  sex  might  have  suggested  to  him 
that  women  do  not  generally  shower  public  praise  on  the 
men  they  love.  Lydia.  however,  quickly  left  the  subject, 
and  returned  to  his  own  affairs.  Nothing,  he  confessed, 
could  have  been  friendlier  or  sincerer  than  her  interest  in 
them.  They  plunged  into  the  subject  of  the  estate;  and 
Faversham  stood  amazed  at  her  knowledge  of  the  dales- 
folk,  their  lives  and  their  grievances.  At  the  end,  he  drew 
a  Ions;  breath. 


210  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"By  George !  —  can  I  do  it? " 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes!"  said  Lydia  eagerly,  driving  her 
needle  into  the  sofa  cushion.     "You'll  reform  him!" 

Faversham  laughed. 

"He's  a  tough  customer.  He  has  already  warned  me 
I  am  not  to  manage  his  estates  like  a  Socialist." 

"No  —  but  like  a  human  being!"  cried  Lydia,  indig- 
nantly—  "that's  all  we  want.  Come  and  talk  to  Lord 
Tatham!" 

"Parley  with  my  employer's  opponent!" 

"Under  a  flag  of  truce,"  laughed  Lydia,  "and  this 
shall  be  the  neutral  ground.  You  shall  meet  here  —  and 
mamma  and  I  will  hold  the  lists." 

"You  think  —  under  those  circumstances  —  we  should 
get  through  much  business?"  His  dark  eyes,  full  of 
gaiety,  searched  hers.     She  flushed  a  little. 

"Ah,  well,  you  should  have  the  chance  anyway." 

Faversham  rose  unwilhngly  to  go.  Lydia  bent  for- 
ward, listening. 

"At  last  —  here  comes  my  mother." 

For  outside  in  the  little  hall  there  was  suddenly  much 
chatter  and  swishing  of  skirts.  Some  one  came  laughing 
to  the  drawing-room  and  threw  it  open.  Mrs.  Penfold, 
flushed  and  excited,  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"My  dear,  did  you  ever  know  such  kind  people!" 

Her  arms  were  laden  with  flowers,  and  with  parcels  of 
different  sorts.  Susy  came  behind,  carrying  two  great 
pots  of  Japanese  hlies. 

"You  said  you'd  like  to  see  those  old  drawings  of 
Keswick  —  by  I  forget  whom.  Lady  Tatham  has  sent 
you  the  whole  set  —  they  had  them  —  you  may  keep 


THE  JVIATING  OF  LYDIA  211 

them  as  long  as  you  like.  And  Lord  Tatham  has  sent 
flowers.  Just  look  at  those  roses!"  Mrs.  Penfold  put 
down  the  basket  heaped  with  them  at  Lydia's  feet,  while 
Susy  —  demurely  —  did  the  same  with  the  lilies.  "And 
there  is  a  fascinating  parcel  of  books  for  Susy  —  all  the 
new  reviews !  .  .  .  Oh!  Mr.  Faversham  —  I  declare  — 
why,  I  never  saw"  you ! " 

Voluble  excuses  and  apologies  followed.  Meanwhile 
Lydia,  with  a  bright  colour,  stood  bewildered,  the  flowers 
all  about  her,  and  the  drawings  in  her  hands.  Faversham 
escaped  as  soon  as  he  could.  As  he  approached  Lydia  to 
say  good-bye,  she  looked  up,  put  the  drawings  aside,  and 
hurriedly  came  with  him  to  the  door. 

"Accept!"  she  said.  "Be  sure  you  accept!" 
He  had  a  last  vision  of  her  standing  in  the  dark  hall, 
and  of  her  soft,  encouraging  look.  As  he  drove  away, 
two  facts  stood  out  in  consciousness:  first,  that  he  was 
falhng  fast  and  deep  in  love;  next,  that  —  by  the  look  of 
things  —  he  had  a  rival,  with  whom,  in  the  opinion  of  all 
practical  people,  it  would  be  mere  folly  for  him  to  think 
of  competing. 


BOOK  II 


WHILE  Faversham  was  driving  back  to  Threlfall, 
his  mind  possessed  by  a  tumult  of  projects  and 
images  —  which  was  a  painful  tumult,  because 
his  physical  strength  was  not  yet  equal  to  coping  with  it 
—  a  scene  was  passing  in  a  bare  cottage  beside  the  Ulls- 
water  road,  whence  in  due  time  one  of  those  events  was 
to  arise  which  we  call  sudden  or  startling  only  because  we 
are  ignorant  of  the  slow  avd^K-q  which  has  produced 
them. 

An  elderly  man  had  just  entered  the  cottage  after  his 
day's  work.  He  was  evidently  dead  tired,  and  he  had 
sunk  down  on  a  chair  beside  a  table  which  held  tea  things 
and  some  bread  and  butter.  His  wife  could  be  heard 
moving  about  in  the  lean-to  scullery  behind  the  living- 
room. 

The  man  sat  motionless,  his  hands  hanging  over  his 
knees,  his  head  bent.  He  seemed  to  be  watching  the 
motes  dancing  in  a  shaft  of  dusty  sunlight  that  had  found 
its  way  into  the  darkened  room.  For  the  western  sua 
was  blazing  on  the  front,  the  blinds  were  down,  and  the 
httle  room  was  like  an  oven.  The  cottage  was  a  new  one 
and  stood  in  a  bare  plot  of  garden,  unshaded  and  unshel- 
tered, on  a  stretch  of  road  which  crossed  the  open  fell.  It 
was  a  labourer's  cottage,  but  the  furniture  of  the  living- 
room  was  superior  in  quality  to  that  commonly  found  in 

215 


216  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

the  cottages  of  the  neighbourhood.  A  piano  was  crowded 
into  one  corner,  and  a  sideboard,  too  large  for  the  room, 
occupied  the  wall  opposite  the  fireplace. 

The  man  sitting  in  the  chair  also  was  clearly  not  an 
ordinary  labourer.  His  brown  suit,  though  worn  and 
frayed,  had  once  been  such  a  suit  as  Messrs.  Carter, 
tailors,  of  Pengarth,  were  accustomed  to  sell  to  their 
farmer  clients,  and  it  was  crossed  by  an  old-fashioned 
chain  and  seal.  The  suit  was  heavily  splashed  with  mud; 
so  were  the  thick  boots;  and  on  the  drooped  brow  shone 
beads  of  sweat.  John  Brand  was  not  much  over  fifty, 
but  he  was  tired  out  in  mind  and  body;  and  his  soul  was 
bitter  within  him. 

A  year  before  this  date  he  had  been  still  the  nominal 
owner  of  a  small  freehold  farm  between  Pengarth  and 
Carlisle,  bordering  on  the  Threlfall  property.  But  he 
was  then  within  an  ace  of  ruin,  and  irreparable  calamity 
had  since  overtaken  him. 

How  it  was  that  he  had  fallen  into  such  a  pHght  was 
still  more  or  less  mysterious  to  a  dull  brain.  Up  to  the  age 
of  forty-seven,  he  had  been  employed  on  his  father's  land, 
with  little  more  than  the  wages  of  a  labourer,  possessing 
but  small  authority  over  the  men  working  on  the  farm, 
and  no  liberty  but  such  as  the  will  of  a  tyrannical  master 
allowed  him.  Then  suddenly  the  father  died,  and  Brand 
succeeded  to  the  farm.  All  his  long-checked  manhood 
asserted  itself.  There  was  a  brief  period  of  drinking, 
betting,  and  high  living.  The  old  man  had  left  a  small 
sum  of  ready  money  in  the  bank,  which  to  the  son,  who 
had  always  been  denied  the  handling  of  money,  seemed 
riches.     It  was  soon  spent,  and  then  unexpected  burdens 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  217 

and  claims  disclosed  themselves.  There  was  a  debt  to  the 
bank,  which  there  were  no  means  of  paying.  And  he 
discovered  to  his  dismay  that  a  spinster  cousin  of  his 
mother's  had  lent  money  to  his  father  within  the  preceding 
five  years,  on  the  security  of  his  stock  and  furniture. 
Where  the  borrowed  money  had  gone  no  one  knew,  but 
the  spinster  cousin,  alarmed  perhaps  by  exaggerated 
accounts  of  the  new  man's  drinking  habits,  pressed  for 
repayment. 

Brand  set  his  teeth,  ceased  to  spend  money,  and  did 
his  best  to  earn  it.  But  he  was  a  stupid  man,  and  the 
leading-strings  in  which  his  life  had  been  held  up  to  middle 
age  had  enfeebled  such  natural  powers  as  he  possessed. 
His  knowledge  was  old-fashioned,  his  methods  slovenly; 
and  his  wife,  as  harmless  as  himself,  but  no  cleverer,  could 
do  nothing  to  help  him.  By  dint,  however,  of  living  and 
working  hard  he  got  through  two  or  three  j^ears,  and  might 
just  have  escaped  his  fate  —  for  his  creditors,  at  that 
stage,  were  all  ready  to  give  him  time  —  had  not  ill- 
fortune  thrown  him  across  the  path  of  Edmund  Melrose. 
The  next  farm  to  his  belonged  to  the  Threlfall  estate. 
Melrose's  methods  as  a  landlord  had  thrown  out  one 
tenant  after  another,  till  he  could  do  nothing  but  put  in  a 
bailiff  and  work  it  himself.  The  bailiff  was  incompetent, 
and  a  herd  of  cattle  made  their  way  one  morning  through 
a  broken  fence  that  no  one  had  troubled  to  mend,  and  did 
serious  damage  to  Brand's  standing  crops.  Melrose  was 
asked  to  compensate,  and  flatly  declined.  The  fence 
was  no  doubt  his;  but  he  claimed  that  it  had  been  broken 
by  one  of  Brand's  men.  Hence  the  accident.  The 
statement   was   false,    and    the   evidence    supporting   it 


218  THE  iVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

corrupt.  Moreover  the  whole  business  was  only  the  last 
of  a  series  of  unneighbourly  acts  on  the  part  both  of  the 
baihff  and  landowner,  and  a  sudden  fury  blazed  up  in 
Brand's  slow  mind.  He  took  his  claim  to  the  county  court 
and  won  his  case;  the  judge  allowing  himseh  a  sharp  sen- 
tence or  two  on  the  management  of  the  ThreKall  property. 
Brand  spent  part  of  his  compensation  money  in  enter- 
taining a  group  of  friends  at  a  Pengarth  pubhc.  But 
that  was  the  last  of  his  triumph.  Thenceforward  things 
went  mysteriously  wrong  with  him.  His  creditors,  first 
one,  then  all,  began  to  tighten  their  pressure  on  him;  and 
presently  the  bank  manager  —  the  Jove  of  Brand's  little 
world  —  passed  abruptly  from  civility  or  indulgence,  to  a 
peremptory  reminder  that  debts  were  meant  to  be  paid. 
A  fresh  bill  of  sale  on  furniture  and  stock  staved  o£P  dis- 
aster for  a  time.  But  a  bad  season  brought  it  once  more  a 
long  step  nearer,  and  the  bank,  however  urgently  appealed 
to,  showed  itself  adamant,  not  only  as  to  any  further 
advance,  but  as  to  any  postponement  of  their  otsti  claim. 
Various  desperate  expedients  only  made  matters  worse, 
and  after  a  few  more  wretched  months  during  which  his 
farm  deteriorated,  and  his  business  went  still  further  to 
TVTCck,  owing  largely  to  his  own  distress  of  mind,  Brand 
threw  up  the  sponge.  He  sold  his  small  remaining  interest 
in  his  farm,  which  did  not  even  suffice  to  pay  his  debts, 
and  went  out  of  it  a  bankrupt  and  broken  man,  pre- 
maturely aged.  A  neighbouring  squire,  indignant  with 
what  was  commonly  supposed  to  be  the  secret  influences 
at  work  in  the  affair,  offered  him  the  post  of  bailiff  in  a 
vacant  farm;  and  he  and  his  family  migrated  to  the  new- 
built  cottage  on  the  Ullswater  road. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  219 

As  to  these  secret  influences,  they  were  plain  enough 
to  many  people.  Melrose  who  had  been  present  on  the 
day  when  the  case  was  tried  had  left  the  court-house  in  a 
fury,  in  company  with  a  certain  ill-famed  solicitor,  one 
Nash,  who  had  worked  up  the  defence,  and  had  served 
the  master  of  Threlfall  before  in  various  litigations  con- 
nected with  his  estates,  such  as  the  respectable  family 
lawyers  in  Carlisle  and  Pengarth  would  have  nothing  to 
do  with.  Nash  told  his  intimates  that  night  that  Brand 
would  rue  his  audacity,  and  the  prophecy  soon  dismally 
fulfilled  itself.  The  local  bank  to  which  Brand  owed 
money  had  been  accustomed  for  years  to  deal  with  very 
large  temporary  balances  —  representing  the  rents  of 
haK  the  ThreKall  estates.  Nash  was  well  known  to  the 
manager,  as  one  of  those  backstairs  informants,  indispen- 
sable in  a  neighbourhood  where  every  farmer  wanted 
advances  —  now  on  his  crops  —  now  on  his  stock  — 
and  the  leading  bank  could  only  escape  losses  by  the 
maintenance  of  a  surprising  amount  of  knowledge  as  to 
each  man's  circumstances  and  character.  Nash  was 
observed  on  one  or  two  occasions  going  in  and  out  of  the 
bank's  private  room,  at  moments  corresponding  with 
some  of  the  worst  crises  of  Brand's  fortunes.  And  v/ith 
regard  to  other  creditors,  no  one  could  say  precisely  how 
they  were  worked  on,  but  they  certainly  showed  a  sur- 
prising readiness  to  join  in  the  harrying  of  a  struggling 
and  helpless  man. 

In  any  case  Brand  believed,  and  had  good  cause  for 
beheving,  that  he  had  been  ruined  by  Melrose  in  revenge 
for  the  county  court  action.  His  two  sons  believed  it 
also. 


220  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

The  tired  man  sat  brooding  over  these  things  in  the 
little  hot  room.  His  wife  came  in,  and  stood  at  the  door 
observing  him,  twisting  her  apron  in  a  pair  of  wet  hands. 

"Yo'U  have  your  tea.?" 

"Aye.     Where  are  t'  lads.?  " 

"Johnnie's  gotten  his  papers.  He's  gane  oot  to  speak 
wi'  the  schoolmaster.  He's  thinkin'  o'  takkin'  his  pas- 
sage for  t'  laast  week  in  t'  year." 

Brand  made  no  reply.  Johnnie,  the  elder  son,  was  the 
apple  of  his  eye.  But  an  uncle  had  offered  him  half  his 
passage  to  Quebec,  and  his  parents  could  not  stand  in  the 
way. 

"An'  Will?" 

"He's  cleanin'  hissel'." 

As  she  spoke,  wavering  steps  were  heard  on  the  stairs, 
and  while  she  returned  to  her  kitchen  the  younger  son. 
Will  Brand,  opened  the  door  of  the  front  room. 

He  was  a  lanky,  loose-jointed  youth  of  twenty,  with  a 
long  hatchet  face.  His  movements  were  strangely  clumsy, 
and  his  eye  wandered.  The  neighbours  had  always 
regarded  him  as  feeble-witted;  and  about  a  year  before 
this  time  an  outburst  of  rough  practical  joking  on  the  lad's 
part  —  sudden  jumpings  out  from  hedges  to  frighten 
school-children  going  home,  or  the  sudden  whoopings  and 
bowlings  of  a  wliite-sheeted  figure,  for  the  startling  of 
lovers  in  the  gloaming  —  had  drawn  the  attention  of  the 
Whitebeck  policeman  to  his  "queerness."  Only  his 
parents  knew  of  what  fits  of  rage  he  was  capable. 

He  wore  now,  as  he  came  into  the  living-room,  an 
excited,  quasi-triumphant  look,  which  did  not  escape  his 
father. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  221 

"What  you  been  after.  Will?" 

"Helpin' Wilson." 

Wilson  was  a  neighbouring  keeper,  who  in  June  and 
July,  before  the  yoiuig  pheasants  were  returned  to  the 
woods,  occasionally  employed  Will  Brand  as  a  watcher, 
especially  at  night. 

Brand  made  no  reply.  His  wife  brought  in  the  tea,  and 
he  and  Will  helped  themselves  greedily.  Presently  Will 
said  abruptly: 

"A've  made  that  owd  gun  work  all  right." 

"Aye.''"  Brand's  tone  was  interrogative,  but  listless. 

"  I  shot  a  kestrel  an'  a  stoat  wi'  un  this  morning. " 

"Yo'did,  eh.?" 

Will  nodded,  his  mouth  crammed  with  bread  and  butter, 
strange  lights  and  flickering  expressions  playing  over  his 
starved,  bony  face. 

"Wilson  says  I'm  gettin'  a  varra  fair  shot." 

"Aye.'  I've  heard'  tha'  practisin'. "  Brand  turned  a 
pair  of  dull  eyes  upon  his  son. 

"An'  I  wish  tha'  wudn't  do  't  i'  my  garden!"  said  Mrs. 
Brand,  with  energy.  "I  doan't  howd  wi'  guns  an' 
shootin'  aboot,  in  a  sma'  garden,  wi'  t'  washin'  an' 
aw." 

"It's  feyther's  garden,  ain't  it,  as  long  as  he  pays  t' 
rent! "  said  Will,  bringing  his  hand  down  on  the  table  with 
sudden  passion.  "Wha's  to  hinder  me?  Mebbe  yo' 
think  Melrose  'uU  be  aboot." 

"Howd  your  tongue,  Wilhe,"  said  his  mother,  mildly. 
"We  werena'  taakin'  o'  Melrose." 

"Noa  —  because  we're  aye  thinkin'!" 

The  lad's  eyes  blazed  as  he  roughly  pushed  his  cup  for  a 


222  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

fresh  supply.  His  mother  endeavoured  to  soothe  him  by 
changing  the  subject.  But  neither  husband  nor  son  en- 
couraged her.  A  gloomy  silence  fell  over  the  tea-table. 
Presently  Brand  moved,  and  with  halting  step  went  to  the 
Uttle  horsehair  sofa,  and  stretched  himself  full  length  upon 
it.  Such  an  action  on  his  part  was  unlieard  of.  Both  wife 
and  son  stared  at  him  without  speaking.  Then  Mrs. 
Brand  got  up,  fetched  an  old  shawl,  and  put  it  over  her 
husband  who  had  closed  his  eyes.  Will  left  the  room,  and 
sitting  on  a  stool  outside  the  cottage  door,  with  the  old 
gun  between  his  knees,  he  watched  the  sunset  as  it  flushed 
the  west,  and  ran  along  the  fell-tops,  till  little  by  little 
the  summer  night  rose  from  the  purple  valley,  or  fell 
softly  from  the  emerging  stars,  and  day  was  done. 

A  fortnight  later,  Mr.  Louis  Delorme,  the  famous 
portrait  painter,  arrived  at  Duddon  Castle.  Various 
guests  had  been  invited  to  meet  him.  Two  guests  — 
members  of  the  Tatham  family  —  had  invited  themselves, 
much  to  Lady  Tatham's  annoyance.  And  certain  neigh- 
bours were  coming  to  dine;  among  them  Mrs.  Penfold  and 
her  daughters. 

Dinner  was  laid  in  a  white-pillared  loggia,  built  by  an 
"ItaUanate"  Lord  Tatham  in  the  eighteenth  century  on 
the  western  side  of  the  house,  communicating  with  the 
dining-room  behind  it,  and  with  the  Italian  garden  in 
front.  It  commanded  the  distant  blue  line  of  the  Kes- 
wick and  Ullswater  mountains,  and  a  foreground  of  wood 
and  crag,  while  the  Italian  garden  to  which  the  marble 
steps  of  the  loggia  descended,  with  its  formal  patterns  of 
bright  colour,  blue,  purple,  and  crimson,  lay  burning  in 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  223 

the  afterglow  of  sunset  light,  which,  in  a  northern  July, 
will  let  you  read  till  ten  o'clock. 

The  guests  gathered  on  the  circle  of  smooth-shaven 
grass  that  in  the  centre  made  a  space  around  a  fountain, 
with  a  gleaming  water  nymph.  A  broad  grass  pathway 
led  them  to  the  house,  so  that  guests  emerging  from  it 
arrived  in  rather  spectacular  fashion  —  well  seen,  against 
the  ivied  walls  of  the  castle,  to  the  unfair  advantage,  as 
usual,  of  grace  and  good  looks. 

Before  hostess  or  neighbours  appeared,  however,  Mr. 
Delorme  and  a  certain  Gerald  Tatham,  Lady  Tatham's 
brother-in-law,  had  the  green  circle  to  themselves.  Gerald 
Tatham  was  one  of  the  uninvited  guests.  He  considered 
himself  entitled  to  descend  on  Duddon  twice  a  year,  and 
generally  left  it  having  borrowed  money  of  his  nephew, 
in  elaborate  forgetfulness  of  a  similar  transaction  twelve 
months  earlier  still  undischarged.  He  was  married,  but 
his  wife  did  not  pay  visits  with  him.  Victoria  greatly 
preferred  her  —  plain  and  silent  as  she  was  —  to  her  hus- 
band; but  realizing  what  a  relief  it  must  be  to  a  woman  to 
get  such  a  man  off  her  hands  as  often  as  possible,  she 
never  pressed  her  to  come  to  Duddon.  Meanwhile 
Gerald  Tatham  passed  as  an  agreeable  person,  well  versed 
in  all  those  affairs  of  his  neighbours  which  they  would 
gladly  have  kept  to  themselves,  and  possessed  of  certain 
odd  pockets  of  knowledge,  sporting  or  financial,  which 
helped  him  to  earn  the  honest  or  doubtful  pennies  on 
which  his  existence  depended. 

Delorme  and  he  got  on  excellently.  Gerald  respected 
the  painter  as  a  person  whose  brush,  in  a  strangely  consti- 
tuted world,  was  able  to  supply  him  with  an  income  which 


£24  THE  jVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

even  the  sons  of  land  or  commerce  might  envy;  and 
secretly  despised  him  for  a  lack  of  grandfathers,  for  his 
crop  of  black  curls,  his  southern  complexion  and  his 
foreign  birth,  Delorme  thought  Gerald  an  idler  of  no 
account,  and  perceived  in  him  the  sure  signs  of  a  de- 
cadence which  was  rapidly  drawing  the  English  aristo- 
cratic class  into  the  hmbo  of  things  that  were.  But 
Gerald  was  an  insatiable  hawker  of  gossip;  and  a  fashion- 
able painter,  with  an  empire  among  young  and  pretty 
women,  must  keep  himself  well  stocked  with  that  article. 

So  the  two  walked  up  and  down  together,  talking 
pleasantly  enough.  Presently  Delorme,  sweeping  a  power- 
ful hand  before  him,  exclaimed  on  the  beauty  of  the  castle 
and  its  surroundings. 

"Yes  —  a  pretty  place,"  said  Gerald,  carelessly,  "and, 
for  once,  money  enough  to  keep  it  up." 

"Your  nephew  is  a  lucky  fellow.  Why  don't  they 
marry  him." 

"No  hurry!  When  it  does  come  oflf  my  sister-in-law 
will  do  something  absurd." 

"Something  sentimental.'*  I'll  bet  you  she  doesn't! 
Democracy  is  all  very  well  —  except  when  it  comes  to 
marriage.  Then  even  idealists  like  Lady  Tatham  knock 
under. " 

"I  wish  you  may  be  right.  Anyway,  she  won't  send 
him  to  New  York!" 

"  No  need !  Blue  blood  —  impoverished !  —  that's  my 
forecast." 

Gerald  smiled  —  ungenially. 

"Victoria  would  positively  dishke  an  heiress.  Jolly 
easy  to  take  that  sort  of  line  —  on  forty  thousand  a  year! 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  225 

But  as  to  birth,  the  family,  in  my  opinion,  has  a  right  to  be 
considered." 

Delorme  hesitated  a  moment,  then  threw  a  provocative 
look  at  his  companion,  the  look  of  the  alien  to  whom  Eng- 
lish assumptions  are  sometimes  intolerable. 

"Pretty  mixed  —  your  stocks  —  some  of  them  —  by 
now!" 

"  Not  ours.  You'd  find,  if  you  looked  into  it,  that  we've 
descended  very  straight.     There's  been  no  carelessness." 

Delorme  threw  up  his  hands. 

"  Good  heavens!  Carelessness,  as  you  call  it,  is  the  only 
hope  for  a  family  nowadays.  A  strong  blood  —  that's 
what  you  want  —  a  blood  that  will  stand  this  modern 
life  —  and  you'll  never  get  that  by  mating  in  and  in. 
Ah!  here  come  the  others." 

They  turned,  and  saw  a  stream  of  people  coming  round 
the  corner  of  the  house.  The  rector  and  Mrs.  Deacon  — 
the  gold  cross  on  the  rector's  waistcoat  shining  in  the 
diffused  light.  Lady  Barbara  Woolson,  the  other  unin- 
vited guest,  Victoria's  first  cousin;  a  young  man  in  a 
dinner  jacket  and  black  tie  walking  with  Lady  Tatham;  a 
Madonnalike  woman  in  black,  hand  in  hand  with  a  tall 
schoolboy;  and  two  elderly  gentlemen. 

But  in  front  —  some  little  way  in  front  —  there  walked 
a  pair  for  whom  all  the  rest  appeared  to  be  mere  escort 
and  attendance;  so  vivid,  so  charged  with  meaning  they 
seemed,  among  the  summer  flowers,  and  under  the 
summer  sky. 

A  slender  girl  in  white,  and  a  tall  youth  looking  down. 
upon  her,  treading  the  grass  just  slightly  in  advance  of  her, 
with  a  happy  deference,  as  though  he  led  in  the  fairy 


226  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

queen.     So  delicate  were  her  proportions,  so  bright  her 

hair,  and  so  compelling  the  charm  that  floated  round  her, 

that  Delorme,  dropping  his  cigarette,  hastily  put  up  his 

eyeglasses,  and  fell  into  his  native  tongue. 
"Sapristi!  —  quelle  petite  fee  avez-vous  la?" 

"My  sister-in-law  talked  of  some  neighbours " 

"Mais  elle  entre  en  reine!       My  dear  fellow,  it  looks 

dangerous. " 

Gerald   pulled   his   moustaches,    looking   hard   at    the 

advancing  pair. 

"A  pretty  little  minx  —  I  must  have  it  out  with  \'ic- 

toria."     But  his  tone  was  doubtful.     It  was  not  easy  to 

have  things  out  with  Victoria. 

The  dinner  under  the  loggia  went  gaily.  Not  many 
courses;  much  fruit;  a  shimmer  of  tea-roses  before  the 
guests;  and  the  scent  of  roses  blowing  in  from  the  garden 
outside. 

Victoria  had  Delorme  on  her  right,  and  Lydia  sat  next 
the  great  man.  Tatham  could  only  glance  at  her  from 
afar.  On  his  right,  he  had  his  cousin.  Lady  Barbara, 
whom  he  cordially  disliked.  Her  yearly  visit,  always 
fixed  and  announced  by  herself,  was  a  time  of  trial  both 
for  him  and  his  mother,  but  they  endured  it  out  of  a  senti- 
mental and  probably  mistaken  belief  that  the  late  Lord 
Tatham  had  —  in  her  youth  —  borne  her  a  cousinly 
affection.  Lady  Barbara  was  a  committee- woman,  inde- 
fatigable, and  indiscriminate.  She  lived  and  gloried  in  a 
chronic  state  of  overwork,  for  which  no  one  but  herself 
saw  the  necessity.  Her  conversation  about  it  only  con- 
firmed the  frivolous  persons  whom  she  tried  to  convert  to 


THE  JVIATING  OF  LYDIA  227 

"social  service,"  in  their  frivolity.  After  a  quarter  of  an 
hour's  conversation  with  her,  Tatham  was  generally 
dumb,  and  as  nearly  rude  as  his  temperament  allowed. 
WTiile,  as  to  his  own  small  efforts,  his  cottages.  County 
Council,  and  the  rest,  no  blandishments  would  have 
drawn  from  him  a  word  about  them;  although,  like  many 
of  us.  Lady  Barbara  would  gladly  have  purchased  leave 
to  talk  about  her  own  achievements  by  a  strictly  moderate 
amount  of  Ustening  to  other  people's. 

On  his  other  side  sat  a  very  different  person  —  the 
sweet-faced  lady,  whose  boy  of  fourteen  sitting  opposite 
kept  up  with  her  through  dinner  a  shy  telegraphy  of  eye 
and  smile.  They  were  evidently  alone  in  the  world,  and 
everything  to  each  other.  She  was  a  widow  —  a  Mrs. 
Edward  Manisty,  whose  husband,  a  brilliant  but  selfish 
man  of  letters,  had  died  some  four  years  before  this  date. 
His  wife  had  never  found  out  that  he  was  selfish;  her  love 
had  haloed  him;  though  she  had  plenty  of  character  of  her 
own.  She  herself  was  an  American,  a  New  Englander  by 
birth,  carrying  with  her  still  the  perfume  of  a  quiet  life 
begun  among  the  hills  of  Vermont,  and  in  sight  of  the 
Adirondacks;  a  Hfe  fundamentally  Puritan  and  based  on 
Puritan  ideals;  yet  softened  and  expanded  by  the  modern 
forces  of  art,  travel,  and  books.  Lucy  Manisty  had 
attracted  her  husband,  when  he,  a  weary  cosmopolitan, 
had  met  her  first  in  Rome,  by  just  this  touch  of  something 
austerely  sweet,  like  the  scent  of  lavender  or  dewy  grass; 
and  she  had  it  still  —  mingled  with  a  kind  humour  —  in 
her  middle  years,  which  were  so  lonely  but  for  her  boy. 
She  and  Victoria  Tatham  had  made  friends  on  the  warm 
soil  of  Italy,  and  through  a  third  person,  a  rare  and  charm- 


«28  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

ing  woman,  whose  death  had  first  made  them  really  known 
to  each  other. 

"I  never  saw  anything  so  attractive!"  Mrs.  Manisty 
was  murmuring  in  Tatham's  ear. 

He  followed  the  direction  of  her  eyes,  and  his  fair  skin 
reddened. 

"She  is  very  pretty,  isn't  she?" 

"Very  —  like  a  Verrocchio  angel  —  who  has  been  to 
college!     She  is  an  artist.''" 

"She  paints.     She  admires  Delorme." 
"That  one  can  see.     And  he  admires  her!" 
"We  —  my  mother  —  wants  him  to  paint  her." 
"He  will  —  if  he  knows  his  owai  business." 
"A  Miss  Penfold.''"  said  Lady  Barbara,  putting  up 
her  eyeglass.     "You  say  she  paints.     The  modern  girl 
must  always  do  something!     My  girls  have  been  brought 
up  for  home." 

A  remark  that  drove  Tatham  into  a  rash  defence  of  the 
modern  girl  to  which  he  was  quite  unequal,  and  in  which 
indeed  he  was  half-hearted,  for  his  fundamental  ideas 
were  quite  as  old-fashioned  as  Lady  Barbara's.  But 
Lydia,  for  him,  was  of  no  date;  only  charm  itself,  one 
with  all  the  magic  and  grace  that  had  ever  been  in  the 
world,  or  would  be. 

Suddenly  he  saw  that  she  was  looking  at  him  —  a 
bright,  signalling  look,  only  to  tell  him  how  hugely  well 
she  was  getting  on  with  Delorme.  He  smiled  in  return, 
but  inwardly  he  was  discontented.  x\lways  this  gay 
camaraderie  —  like  a  boy's.  Not  the  slightest  tremor  in 
it.  Not  a  touch  of  consciousness  —  or  of  sex.  He  could 
not  indeed  have  put  it  so.     All  he  knew  was  that  he  was 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  229 

always  thirstily  seeking  something  she  showed  no  signs  of 
giving  him. 

But  he  himself  was  being  rapidly  swept  off  his  feet. 
Since  their  meeting  at  Threlfall,  which  had  been  inter- 
rupted by  Melrose's  freakish  return,  there  had  been  other 
meetings,  as  delightful  as  before,  yet  no  more  conclusive  or 
encouraging.  He  and  l^ydia  had  indeed  grown  intimate. 
He  had  revealed  to  her  thoughts  and  feehngs  which  he  had 
unveiled  for  no  one  else  —  not  even  for  Victoria  —  since 
he  was  a  boy  at  school  with  boyish  friendships.  And  she 
had  handled  them  with  such  delicacy,  such  sweetness; 
such  frankness  too,  in  return  as  to  her  own  "ideas,"  those 
stubborn  intractable  ideas,  which  made  him  frown  to 
think  of.  Yet  all  the  time  —  he  knew  it  —  there  had 
been  no  flirting  on  her  part.  Never  had  she  given  him 
the  smallest  ground  to  think  her  in  love  with  him.  On 
the  contrary,  she  had  maintained  between  them  for  all  her 
gentleness,  from  beginning  to  end,  that  soft,  intangible 
barrier  which  at  once  checked  and  challenged  him. 

Passion  ran  high  in  him.  And,  moreover,  he  w  as  begin- 
ning to  be  more  than  vaguely  jealous.  He  had  seen  for 
himself  how  much  there  was  in  common  between  her  and 
Faversham;  during  the  last  fortnight  he  had  met  Faver- 
sham  at  the  cottage  on  several  occasions;  and  there  had 
been  references  to  other  visits  from  the  new  agent.  He 
understood  perfectly  that  Lydia  was  broadly,  humanly 
interested  in  the  man's  task:  the  poet,  the  enthusiast  in 
her  was  stirred  by  what  he  might  do,  if  he  would,  for  the 
humble  folk  she  loved.  But  still,  there  they  were  — 
meeting  constantly.  "And  he  can  talk  to  her  about  all 
the  things  I  can't!" 


230  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

His  earlier  optimism  had  quite  passed  by  now;  prob- 
ably, though  unconsciously,  under  the  influence  of  Lydia's 
nascent  friendship  with  Faversham.  There  had  sprung 
up  in  him  instead  a  constant  agitation  and  disquiet  that 
could  no  longer  be  controlled.  No  help  —  but  rather 
danger  —  lay  in  waiting.  .  .  . 

Delorme  had  now  turned  away  from  Lydia  to  his 
hostess,  and  Lydia  was  talking  to  Squire  Andover  on  her 
other  side,  a  jolly  old  boy,  with  a  gracious,  absent  look,  who 
inclined  his  head  to  her  paternally.  Tatham  knew  very 
well  that  there  was  no  one  in  the  county  who  was  more 
rigidly  tied  to  caste  or  rank.  But  he  was  kind  always  to 
the  outsider  —  kind  therefore  to  Lydia.  Good  heavens ! 
—  as  if  there  was  any  one  at  the  table  fit  to  tie  her  shoe- 
string ! 

His  pulses  raced.  The  heat,  the  golden  evening,  the 
flowers,  all  the  lavish  colour  and  scents  of  nature,  seemed 
to  be  driving  him  toward  speech  —  toward  some  expres- 
sion of  himseK,  which  must  be  risked,  even  if  it  lead  him 
to  disaster. 

The  dinner  which  appeared  to  Tatham  interminable, 
and  was  really  so  short,  by  Victoria's  orders,  that  Squire 
Andover  felt  resentfully  he  had  had  nothing  to  eat,  at 
last  broke  up.  The  gentlemen  lingered  smoking  on  the 
loggia.  The  ladies  dispersed  through  the  garden,  and 
Delorme  —  after  a  look  round  the  male  company —  quietly 
went  with  them.  So  did  the  gentleman  in  the  dinner  jacket 
and  black  tie.  Tatham,  impatiently  doing  his  duty  as  host, 
could  only  follow  the  fugitives  with  his  eyes,  their  pale  silks 
and  muslins,  among  the  flowers  and  under  the  trees. 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  231 

But  his  guests,  over  their  cigars,  were  busy  with  some 
local  news,  and,  catching  Faversham's  name,  Tatham 
presently  recalled  his  thoughts  sufficiently  to  listen  to 
what  was  being  said.  The  topic,  naturally,  was  Faver- 
sham's appointment.  Every  landowner  there  was  full  of 
it.  He  had  been  seen  in  Brampton  on  market  day  driv- 
ing in  a  very  decent  motor;  and  since  his  accession  he  had 
succeeded  in  letting  two  or  three  of  the  derelict  farms,  on  a 
promise  of  repairs  and  improvements  which  had  been  at 
last  wrung  out  of  Melrose.  It  was  rumoured  also  that  the 
most  astonishing  things  were  happening  in  the  house  and 
the  gardens. 

"Who  on  earth  is  the  man,  and  where  does  he  come 
from?"  asked  a  short,  high-shouldered  man  with  a  blunt, 
pugnacious  face.  He  was  an  ex-officer,  a  J.  P.,  and  one  of 
the  most  active  Conservative  wire-pullers  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. He  and  Victoria  Tatham  were  the  best  of 
friends.  They  differed  on  almost  all  subjects.  He  was  a 
mass  of  prejudices,  large  and  small,  and  Victoria  laughed 
at  him.  But  when  she  wanted  to  help  any  particularly 
lame  dog  over  any  particularly  high  stile,  she  always 
went  to  Colonel  Barton.  A  cockney  doctor  attached  to 
the  Workhouse  had  once  described  him  to  her  as  — 
"  'eart  of  gold,  'edd  of  feathers  "  —  and  the  label  had  stuck. 

"A  Londoner,  picked  up  badly  hurt  on  the  road,  by 
Undershaw,  I  understand,  and  carried  into  the  lion's  den," 
said  Andover,  in  answer  to  Barton.  "And  now  they  say 
he  is  obtaining  the  most  extraordinary  influence  over  the 
old  boy." 

"And  the  house  —  turned  into  a  perfect  palace!"  said 
the  rector,  throwing  up  his  hands. 


232  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

The  others,  except  Tatham,  crowded  eagerly  round, 
wliile  the  rector  described  a  visit  he  had  paid  to  Faver- 
sham,  within  a  few  days  of  the  agent's  appointment,  on 
behalf  of  a  farmer's  widow,  a  parishioner,  under  notice  to 
quit. 

"Hadn't  been  in  the  house  for  twenty  years.  The  place 
is  absolutely  transformed !  It  used  to  be  a  pigsty.  Now 
Faversham's  rooms  are  fit  for  a  prince.  Nothing  short  of 
one  of  your  rooms  here"  —  he  addressed  Tatham,  with  a 
laughing  gesture  toward  the  house  —  "comparable  to  his 
sitting-room.  Priceless  things  in  it!  And  close  by,  an 
excellent  oflBce,  with  room  for  two  clerks  —  one  already  at 
work  —  piles  of  blue-books,  pamphlets,  heavens  knows 
what!  And  they  are  fitting  up  a  telephone  between 
Threlfall  and  some  new  rooms  that  he  has  taken  for 
■estate  business  in  Peugarth." 

"A  telephone  —  at  Threlfall!"  murmured  Andover. 

"And  Undershaw  tells  me  that  Melrose  has  taken  the 
most  extraordinary  fancy  for  the  young  man.  Everything 
is  done  for  him.  He  may  have  anything  he  likes.  And, 
rumour  says  —  an  enormous  salary ! " 

"Sounds  like  an  adventurer,"  grumbled  Barton, 
"probably  is." 

Tatham  broke  in.  "No,  you're  wrong  there.  Colonel. 
I  knew  Faversham  at  college.  He's  a  very  decent  fellow 
—  and  awfully  clever." 

Yet,  somehow,  his  praise  stuck  in  his  throat. 

"Well,  of  course,"  said  Andover  with  a  shrug,  "if  he  is 
a  decent  fellow,  as  Tatham  says,  he  won't  stay  long.  Do 
you  imagine  Melrose  is  going  to  change  his  spots.''  —  not 
he!" 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  233 

"Somebody  must  really  go  and  talk  to  this  chap," 
said  Barton  gloomily.  "I  believe  Melrose  will  lose  us  the 
next  election  up  here.  You  really  can't  expect  people 
to  vote  for  Tories,  if  Tories  are  that  sort." 

The  talk  flowed  on.  But  Tatham  had  ceased  to  listen. 
For  some  little  time  there  had  been  no  voices  or  steps  in 
the  garden  outside.  They  had  melted  into  the  wood 
beyond.  But  now  they  had  returned.  He  perceived  a 
white  figure  against  a  distant  background  of  clipped  yew. 

Rising  joyously  he  threw  down  his  cigarette. 

"Shall  we  join  the  ladies.''" 

"I  say,  you've  had  a  dose  of  Delorme. " 

For  he  had  found  her  still  with  the  painter,  who  as  soon 
as  Tatham  appeared  had  subsided  languidly  into  allowing 
Lady  Barbara  to  talk  to  him. 

"Oh!  but  so  amusing!"  cried  Lydia,  her  face  twinkling. 
"We've  picked  all  the  Academy  to  pieces  and  danced  on 
their  bones." 

"Has  he  asked  you  to  sit  to  him.?" 

Lydia  hesitated,  and  in  the  soft  light  he  saw  her  flush. 

"He  said  something.  Of  course  it  would  be  a  great, 
great  honour!" 

"An  honour  to  him,"  said  Tatham  hotly. 

"I'm  afraid  you  don't  know  how  to  respect  great  men!" 
she  said  laughing,  as  they  drew  out  of  the  shadow  of 
the  Italian  garden  with  its  clipped  yews  and  cypresses, 
and  reached  a  broad  terrace  whence  the  undulations  of  the 
park  stretched  westward  and  upward  into  the  purple 
fissures  and  clefts  of  the  mountains.  Trees,  fells,  grass 
were  steeped  in  a  wan,  gold  light,  a  mingling  of  sunset  and 


234  THE  JNIATING  OF  LYDIA 

moonrise.  The  sky  was  clear;  the  gradations  of  colour 
on  the  hills  ethereally  distinct.  From  a  clump  of  trees 
came  a  soft  hooting  of  owls;  and  close  behind  them  a  tall 
hedge  of  roses  red  and  white  made  a  bower  for  Lydia's 
light  form,  and  filled  the  night  with  perfume. 

"What  do  great  men  matter.?"  said  Tatham  inco- 
herently as  they  paused;  "what  does  anything  matter  — 
but  —  Lydia! " 

It  was  a  cry  of  pain.  A  hand  groped  for  hers.  Lydia 
startled,  looked  up  to  see  the  face  of  Tatham  looking 
down  upon  her  through  the  warm  dusk  —  transfigured. 

"You'll  let  me  speak,  won't  you.?  I  daresay  it's  much 
too  soon  —  I  daresay  you  can't  think  of  it  —  yet.  But  I 
love  you.  I  love  you  so  dearly !  I  can't  keep  it  to  myself. 
I  have  —  ever  since  I  first  saw  you.  You  won't  be  angry 
with  me  for  speaking.?  You  won't  think  I  took  you  by 
surprise.?  I  don't  want  to  hurry  you  —  I  only  want  you 
to  know " 

Emotion  choked  him.  Lydia,  after  a  murmur  he 
couldn't  catch,  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

He  waited;  and  already  there  crept  through  him  the 
dull  sense  of  disaster.  The  impulse  to  speak  had  been 
irresistible,  and  now  —  he  wished  he  had  not  spoken. 

At  last  she  looked  up. 

"Oh,  you  have  been  so  good  to  me  —  so  sweet  to  me," 
and  before  he  knew  what  she  was  doing,  she  had  lifted  one 
of  his  hands  in  her  two  slender  ones  and  touched  it  with 
her  lips. 

Outraged — enchanted — bewildered — he  tried  to  catch 
her  in  his  arms.  But  she  slipped  away  from  him  and 
with  her  hands  behind  her,  she  looked  at  him,  smiling 


THE  MATING  OF  lADIA  235 

through  tears,  her  fair  hair  blown  back  from  her  temples, 
her  deHcate  face  ahve  with  feeling. 

"I  can't  say  yes  —  it  wouldn't  be  honest  if  I  did  —  it 
wouldn't  be  fair  to  you.  But,  oh,  dear,  I'm  so  sorry  —  so 
dreadfully  sorry  —  if  it's  my  fault  —  if  I've  misled  you. 
I  thought  I'd  tried  hard  to  show  what  I  really  felt  — 
that  I  wanted  to  be  friends  —  but  not  —  not  this.  Dear 
Lord  Tatham,  I  do  like  and  admire  you  so  much  — 
but " 

"You  don't  want  to  marry  me!"  he  said  bitterly, 
turning  away. 

She  paused  a  moment. 

"No"  —  the  word  came  with  soft  decision  —  "no. 
And  if  I  were  to  marry  you  without  —  without  that  feeling 
—  you  have  a  right  to  —  I  should  be  doing  wrong  —  to 
you  —  and  to  myself.  You  see"  —  she  looked  down,  the 
points  of  her  white  shoe  drawing  circles  on  the  grass,  as 
though  to  help  out  her  faltering  speech  —  "I  —  I'm  not 
what  I  believe  you  think  me.  I've  got  all  sorts  of  hard, 
independent  notions  in  my  mind.  I  want  to  paint  —  and 
study  —  and  travel  —  I  want  to  be  free " 

"You  should  be  free  as  air!"  he  interrupted  passion- 
ately. 

"Ah,  but  no!  —  not  if  I  married.  I  shouldn't  want  to 
be  free  in  that  way,  if " 

"If  you  were  in  love?  I  understand.  And  you're 
not  in  love  with  me.  Why  should  you  be.?"  said  poor 
Tatham,  with  a  new  and  desperate  humility.  "^Miy  on 
earth  should  you  be?  But  I'd  adore  you  —  I'd  give  you 
anything  in  the  world  you  wanted." 

Sounds  of  talking  and  footsteps  emerged  from  the  dusk 


236  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

behind  them;  the  high  notes  of  Lady  Barbara  and  the 
answering  bass  of  Delorme. 

"Don't  let  them  find  us,"  said  Lydia  impetuously  — 
"I've  so  much  to  say." 

Tatham  turned,  and  led  the  way  to  the  pillared  darkness 
of  a  pergola  to  their  left.  One  side  of  it  was  formed  by  a 
high  yew  hedge;  on  the  other,  its  rose- twined  arches  looked 
out  upon  the  northern  stretches  of  the  park,  and  on  the 
garden  front  of  Duddon.  There  it  lay,  the  great  house, 
faintly  lit;  and  there  in  front  stretched  its  demesne, 
symbol  of  its  ancient  rule  and  of  its  modern  power.  A 
natural  excitement  passed  through  Lydia  as  they  paused, 
and  she  caught  its  stately  outline  through  the  night.  And 
then,  the  tameless  something  in  her  soul,  which  was  her 
very  self,  rose  up,  rejoicing  in  its  own  strength,  and  yet 
—  wistful,  full  of  tenderness.  Now !  —  let  her  play  her 
stroke  —  her  stroke  in  the  new  great  game  that  was  to  be, 
in  the  new  age,  between  men  and  women. 

"Why  shouldn't  we  just  be  friends?"  she  urged.  "I 
know  it  sounds  an  old,  stale  thing  to  say.  But  it  isn't. 
There's  a  new  meaning  in  it  now,  because  —  because 
women  are  being  made  new.  It  used  to  be  offering  what 
we  couldn't  give.  We  could  be  lovers;  we  weren't  good 
enough  —  we  hadn't  stuff  enough  —  to  be  friends.     ]^ut 

now  —  dear  Lord  Tatham  —  just  try  me "     She  held 

out  to  him  two  hands,  which  he  took  against  his  will.  "I 
like  you  so  much !  —  I  know  that  I  should  love  your  mother. 
Now  that  we've  had  this  out,  why  shouldn't  we  build  up 
Something  quite  fresh?     I  want  a  friend  —  so  badly! " 

"And  I  want  something  —  so  much  more  than  a 
friend!"  he  said,  pressing  her  hands  fiercely. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  237 

"Ah,  but  give  it  up!"  she  pleaded.  "If  you  can't, 
I  mustn't  come  here  any  more,  nor  you  to  us.  And  why? 
It  would  be  such  a  waste  —  of  what  our  friendship  might 
be.  You  could  teach  me  so  many  things.  I  think  I 
could  teach  you  some. " 

He  dropped  her  hands,  mastering  himself  with  dif- 
ficulty. 

"It's  nonsense,"  he  said  shortly;  "I  know  it's  nonsense! 
But  —  if  I  promised  not  to  say  anything  of  this  kind 
again  for  a  year.'' " 

She  pondered.  There  were  compunctions,  remorses,  in 
her.  As  Susan  had  warned  her,  was  she  playing  with  a 
man's  heart  and  life? 

But  her  trust  in  her  own  resources,  the  zest  of  spiritual 
adventure,  and  a  sheer  longing  to  comfort  him  pre- 
vailed. 

"You'll  promise  that;  and  I'll  promise  —  just  to  be  as 
nice  to  you  as  ever  I  can ! "  She  paused.  They  looked  at 
each  other;  the  trouble  in  his  eyes  questioning  the  smile 
in  hers.  "Now  please!  —  my  friend!"  —  she  slid  dex- 
terously, though  very  softly,  into  the  everyday  tone  — 
"will  you  advise  me?  Mr.  Delorme  has  asked  me  to  sit 
to  him.  Just  a  sketch  in  the  garden  —  for  a  picture  he's 
at  work  on.     You  would  like  me  to  accept?" 

She  stood  before  him,  her  eyes  raised,  with  the  frank 
gentleness  of  a  child.  Yet  there  was  a  condition  impUed 
in  the  question. 

Tatham  broke  out  —  passionately. 

"Just  tell  me.     There's  —  there's  no  one  else?" 

She  suffered  for  him;  she  hastened  to  comfort  him, 

"No,  no  —  indeed  there's  no  one  else.     Though,  mind. 


238  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

I'm  free.  And  so  are  you.  Shall  I  come  to-morrow?  "  she 
asked  again,  with  quiet  insistence. 

There  was  a  gulp  in  Tatham's  throat.  Yet  he  rose  — 
dismally  —  to  her  challenge. 

"You  would  do  what  I  like?"  he  asked,  quivering. 

"Indeed  I  would." 

"I  invited  Delorme  here  —  just  to  please  you  —  and 
because  I  hoped  he'd  paint  you." 

"Then  that's  settled!"  she  said,  with  a  httle  sigh  of 
satisfaction. 

"And  what,  please,  am  I  to  do  —  that  youd  like?" 
She  looked  up  mischievously. 

"  Call  me  Lydia  —  forget  that  you  ever  wanted  to 
marry  me  —  and  don't  mind  a  rap  what  people  say!" 

He  laughed,  through  his  pain,  and  gravely  took  her 
hand. 

"And  now,"  said  Lydia,  "I  think  it's  time  to  go  home." 

When  all  the  guests  were  gone,  when  Gerald  and  De- 
lorme had  smoked  their  last  interminable  cigars,  and 
Delorme  had  made  his  last  mocking  comments  on  the 
"old  masters"  who  adorned  the  smoking-room,  Tatham 
saw  him  safely  to  bed,  and  returned  to  his  sitting-room 
on  the  ground  floor.  The  French  window  was  open,  and 
he  passed  out  into  the  garden.  Soon,  in  his  struggle  with 
himself,  he  had  left  the  garden  and  the  park  behind,  and 
was  chmbing  the  slope  of  the  fells.  The  play  of  the  soft 
summer  winds  under  the  stars,  the  scents  of  bracken  and 
heather  and  rushes,  the  distant  throbbing  sounds  that 
rose  from  the  woods  as  the  wind  travelled  through  them  — 
and  soon,  the  short  mountain  turf  beneath  his  feet,  and 


THE  IVLVTING  OF  LYDIA  239 

around  and  below  him,  the  great  shapes  of  the  hills, 
mysteriously  still,  and  yet,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  mys- 
teriously alive  —  these  things  spoke  to  him  and,  little  by 
little,  calmed  his  blood. 

It  was  the  first  anguish  of  a  happy  man.  When, 
presently,  he  lay  safe  hidden  in  a  hollow  of  the  lonely  fell, 
face  downward  among  the  moonlit  rocks,  some  young  and 
furious  tears  fell  upon  the  sod.  That  quiet  strength  of 
will  in  so  soft  a  creature  —  a  will  opposed  to  his  will  — 
had  brought  him  up  against  the  unyieldingness  of  the 
world.  The  joyous  certainties  of  life  were  shaken  to  their 
base;  and  yet  he  could  not,  he  did  not,  cease  to  hope. 


XI 

VICTORIA  was  sitting  to  Delorme  in  a  corner  of  the 
Italian  garden.  He  wished  to  paint  her  en  plein 
aiTy  and  he  was  restlessly  walking  to  and  fro, 
about  her,  choosing  a  point  of  view.  Victoria  was 
vaguely  pleased  by  the  pictiu-esqueness  of  his  lion  head 
set  close  on  a  pair  of  powerful  shoulders,  no  less  than  by 
the  vivacity  of  his  dark  face  and  southern  gesture.  He 
wore  a  hnen  jacket  with  bulging  pockets,  and  a  black 
skullcap,  which  gave  him  a  masterful,  pontifical  air.  To 
Victoria's  thinking,  indeed,  he  "pontified"  at  all  times, 
a  great  deal  more  than  was  necessary. 

However  she  sat  resigned.  She  did  not  Hke  Delorme, 
and  her  preference  was  all  for  another  school  of  art.  She 
had  moreover  a  critical  respect  for  her  own  features,  and 
she  did  not  want  at  all  to  see  them  rendered  by  what 
seemed  to  her  the  splashing  violence  of  Delorme's  brush- 
work.  But  Harry  had  asked  it  of  her,  and  here  she 
was. 

Her  thoughts,  moreover,  were  full  of  Harry's  affairs, 
so  that  the  conversation  between  her  and  the  painter  was 
more  or  less  pretence  on  her  part. 

Delorme,  meanwhile,  was  divided  between  the  passion 
of  a  new  subject  and  the  wrath  excited  in  him  by  a 
newspaper  article  which  had  reached  him  at  breakfast. 

"A  Httle  more  to  the  left,  please,  Lady  Tatham.     Ad- 

240 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  241 

mirable!  One  moment!"  The  scrabble  of  charcoal  on 
paper. 

Delorme  stepped  back.     Victoria  sat  languidly  passive. 

"Did  you  read  that  article  on  me  in  The  Weekly? 
The  man's  a  fool !  —  knows  nothing,  and  writes  hke  God 
Almighty.  A  httle  more  full  face.  That's  it!  I  sup- 
pose all  professions  are  full  of  these  jealous  beasts.  Ours 
is  cluttered  up  with  them  —  men  who  never  sell  a  picture, 
and  make  up  by  living  on  the  compliments  of  their  own 
little  snarhng  set.  But,  upon  my  word,  it  makes  one 
rather  sick.  Ah,  that's  good !  You  moved  a  trifle  — 
that's  better  —  just  a  moment!" 

"I'm  glad  you  let  me  sit,"  said  Victoria  absently.  "I 
stood  to  Whistler  once.     It  nearly  killed  me." 

"Ah,  Jimmy!"  said  Delorme.     "Jimmy  was  a  Tartar!" 

He  went  off  at  score  into  recollections  of  Whistler, 
drawing  hard  all  the  time. 

Victoria  did  not  hsten.  She  was  thinking  of  those 
sounds  of  footsteps  she  had  heard  under  her  window  at 
dawn,  and  passing  her  room.  This  morning  Harry  looked 
as  usual,  except  for  something  in  the  eyes,  which  none  but 
she  would  notice.  WTiat  had  he  been  doing  all  those 
hours?  There  was  nothing  erratic  or  abnormal  about 
Harry.  Sound  sleep  from  the  moment  he  put  his  head 
on  his  pillow  to  the  moment  at  eight  o'clock  when  his 
servant  with  great  difficulty  woke  him,  was  the  rule  with 
him. 

WTiat  could  have  happened  the  night  before  —  while 
he  and  Lydia  Penfold  were  alone  together  .f^  Victoria 
had  seen  them  come  back  into  the  general  company,  had 
indeed  been  restlessly  on  the  watch  for  their  return.     It 


242  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

had  seemed  to  her  —  though  how  be  sure  in  that  mingled 
hght?  —  both  at  the  moment  of  their  leappearance  and 
afterward,  that  Harry  was  somewhat  unusually  pale  and 
quiet,  while  the  girl's  look  had  struck  her  as  singular  — 
exaltee  —  the  eyes  shining  —  yet  the  manner  composed  an 
and  sweet  as  usual.  She  already  divined  the  theorist  in 
Lydia,  the  speculator  with  Kfe  and  conduct.  "But  not 
with  my  Harry!"  thought  the  mother,  fiercely. 

But  how  could  she  prevent  it?  What  could  she  do.'' 
What  can  any  mother  do  when  the  wave  of  energy  — 
spiritual  and  physical  —  has  risen  or  is  rising  to  its 
height  in  the  young  creature,  and  the  only  question  is 
how  and  where  it  shall  break;  in  crash  and  tempest,  or  in  a 
summer  sea.'* 

Delorme  suddenly  raised  liis  great  head  from  his  easel. 

"That  was  a  delicious  creature  that  sat  by  me  last 
night." 

"Miss  Penfold.''     She  is  one  of  your  devotees." 

"  She  paints,  so  she  said.  Mon  Dieu!  \Miy  do  women 
paint. ^" 

Victoria,  roused,  hotly  defended  the  right  of  her  sex  to 
ply  any  honest  art  in  the  world  that  might  bring  them 
either  pleasure  or  money, 

"Mais  la  peiniure!"  Delorme's  shoulder  shrugged  still 
higher.  "  It  is  an  infernal  thing,  milady,  painting.  \Miat 
can  a  woman  make  of  it.f*  She  can  only  unsex  herself. 
And   in   the   end  —  what   she   produces  —  what   is   it?" 

"If  it  pays  the  rent  —  isn't  that  enough?" 

"But  a  young  girl  like  that!  WTiat,  in  God's  name, 
has  she  do  to  with  paying  the  rent?  Let  her  dance  and 
sing  —  have  a  train  of  lovers  —  look  beautiful!" 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  243 

"The  whole  duty  of  woman!"  laughed  Victoria  with  a 
touch  of  scorn;  "for  our  grandmothers." 

"No:  for  all  time,"  said  Delorme  stoutly.  "Ask 
milord."  He  looked  toward  the  house,  and  Victoria  saw 
Tatham  emerging.  But  she  had  no  intention  whatever 
of  asking  him.  She  rose  hastily,  excused  herself  on  the 
score  of  needing  a  few  minutes'  rest,  and  went  to  meet 
her  son. 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you,  mother,"  he  said,  as  they  ap- 
proached each  other,  "Faversham's  coming  this  after- 
noon. I  had  a  letter  from  him  this  morning.  He  seems 
to  be  trying  to  make  the  old  man  behave." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him." 

Struck  by  something  lifeless  and  jaded  in  the  voice  she 
loved,  Victoria  shot  a  glance  at  her  son,  then  slipped  her 
hand  into  his  arm,  and  walked  back  with  him  to  his  library. 

He  sat  down  silently  to  his  books  and  papers.  A 
couple  of  official  reports  lay  open,  and  Victoria  knew  that 
he  was  going  to  an  important  county  meeting  that  even- 
ing, where  he  was  to  be  in  the  chair.  Many  older  men, 
men  who  had  won  their  spurs  in  politics  or  business,  would 
be  there,  and  it  was  entirely  by  their  wish  —  their  kindly 
wish  —  that  Harry  would  take  the  lead.  They  desired 
to  see  him  treading  in  the  steps  of  his  forefathers. 

Perched  on  the  end  of  his  writing  table,  she  watched 
her  son  a  moment.  It  seemed  to  her  she  saw  already 
what  the  young  face  would  be  hke  when  it  was  old.  A 
pang  struck  her. 

"Harry  —  is  there  anything  wrong.''" 

He  looked  up  quite  simply  and  stretched  his  hand  to 
her. 


244  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"I  asked  her  to  marry  me  last  night." 

"Well?"     The  colour  rushed  into  the  mother's  face. 

"No  go.  She  doesn't  love  me.  She  wants  us  to  be 
friends." 

Victoria  gasped. 

"But  she's  coming  to  sit  to  Delorme  this  afternoon!" 

"Because  I  asked  her." 

"Harry,  dear  boy,  for  both  your  sakes  —  either  all 
or  nothing!     If  she  doesn't  care  —  break  it  off." 

"There's  nothing  to  break  off,  dearest.  And  don't 
ask  me  not  to  see  her,  I  couldn't.  Who  knows?  She's 
got  her  ideas.  Of  course  I've  got  mine.  Perhaps  — 
after  all — I  may  win.  Or,  if  not  —  perhaps" —  he  shaded 
his  face  wath  his  hand  —  "  she'll  show  me  —  how  not  to 
mind.     I  know  she  wants  to." 

Silence  a  moment.  Then  the  lad's  hand  dropped.  He 
smiled  at  Victoria. 

"Let's  fall  in!  There's  nothing  else  to  do  anyway. 
She's  not  like  other  girls.  When  she  says  a  thing  —  she 
means  it.     But  so  long  as  I  can  see  her  —  I'm  happy!" 

"You  ought  to  forget  her!"  said  Victoria  angrily, 
kissing  his  hair.  "These  things  should  end  —  one  way 
or  the  other." 

He  looked  perplexed. 

"She  doesn't  think  so  —  and  I'm  thankful  she  doesn't, 
mother  —  don't  say  anything  to  her.  Promise  me.  She 
said  last  night  —  she  loved  you.     She  wants  to  come  here. 

Let's  give  her  a  jolly  time.     Perhaps " 

•■  The  patience  in  his  l)lue  eyes  nearly  made  her  cry. 
And  there  was  also  the  jealousy  that  no  fond  mother 
escapes,  the  commonest  of  all  jealousies.     He  was  passing 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  245 

out  of  her  hands,  this  creature  of  her  own  flesh.  Till  now 
she  had  moulded  and  shaped  him.  Henceforward  the 
lightest  influence  rained  by  this  girl's  eyes  would  mean 
more  to  him  than  all  the  intensity  of  her  own  affection. 

Victoria's  mind  for  the  rest  of  the  sitting  was  in  a 
state  of  abstraction,  and  she  sat  so  still  that  Delorme  was 
greatly  pleased  with  her.  At  luncheon  she  was  still 
absent-minded,  and  Lady  Barbara  whispered  in  Gerald 
Tatham's  ear  that  Victoria  was  always  a  poor  hostess, 
but  this  time  her  manners  were  really  impossible. 

"But  you  intend  to  stay  a  fortnight,  don't  you.?"  said 
Gerald,  not  without  malice. 

"If  I  can  possibly  stay  it  out."  The  reply  was  lofty, 
but  the  situation,  as  Gerald  knew,  was  commonplace. 
Lady  Barbara's  house  in  town  was  let  for  another  fort- 
night, and  Duddon's  Castle  was  more  agreeable  and  more 
economical  than  either  lodgings  or  a  hotel. 

Meanwhile  a  pair  of  eyes  belonging  to  the  young  man 
whose  dinner  jacket  and  black  tie  had  marked  him  out 
amid  the  other  male  guests  of  the  night  before  were 
observing  matters  with  a  more  subtle  and  friendly  spirit 
behind  them.  Cyril  Boden  was  a  Fellow  of  All  Souls,  a 
journalist,  an  advanced  Radical,  a  charmer,  and  a  fanatic. 
He  hated  no  man.  That  indeed  was  the  truth.  But  he 
hated  the  theories  and  the  doings  of  so  many  men,  that 
the  difference  between  him  and  the  mere  revolutionary 
was  hard  to  seize.  He  had  a  smooth  and  ruddy  face,  in 
which  the  eyebrows  seemed  to  be  always  rising  interroga- 
tively; longish  hair;  stooping  shoulders,  and  an  amiable, 
lazy,  mocking  look  that  belied  a  nature  of  singular  passion. 


246  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

always  occupied  with  the  most  tremendous  problems  of 
life,  and  afraid  of  no  solution. 

He  had  been  overworking  himself  in  the  attempt  to 
settle  a  dock  strike,  and  had  come  to  Duddon  to  rest. 
Victoria  was  much  attached  to  him  in  a  motherly  way, 
and  he  to  her.  They  sparred  a  good  deal;  she  attacking 
"agitators"  and  "demagogues,"  he,  fierce  on  "feudal 
tyranny,"  especially  when  masked  in  the  beauties  and 
amenities  of  such  a  place  as  Duddon.  But  they  were 
friends  all  the  same,  exchanging  the  unpaid  services  of 
friends. 

In  the  afternoon,  before  Lydia  Penfold  appeared, 
Boden  found  amusement  'in  teasing  Delorme  —  an  old 
acquaintance.  Delorme  was  accustomed  to  pose  in  all 
societies  as  Whistler's  lawful  and  only  successor.  "Pat- 
tern" and  "harmony"  possessed  him;  "finish"  was  only 
made  for  fools,  and  the  story-teller  in  art  was  the  unclean 
thing.  His  ambition,  like  Whistler's,  was  to  paint  a  full 
length  in  three  days,  and  hear  it  hailed  a  masterpiece. 
And,  like  Wliistler,  he  had  no  sooner  painted  it  than  he 
scraped  it  out;  which  most  sitters  found  discouraging. 

Boden,  meanwhile,  made  amends  for  all  that  was 
revolutionary  in  his  politics  or  economics,  by  reaction  on 
two  subjects  —  art  and  divorce.  He  had  old-fashioned 
ideas  on  the  family,  and  did  not  want  to  see  divorce  made 
easy.  And  he  was  quaintly  Ruskinian  in  matters  of  art, 
believing  that  all  art  should  appeal  to  ethical  or  poetic 
emotion. 

"Boden  admires  a  painter  because  he  is  a  good  man 
and  pays  his  washing  bills,"  drawled  Delorme  behind  his 
cigarette,  from  the  lazy  depths  of  a  garden  chair.     "His 


.THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  247 

very  colours  are  virtues,  and  his  pictures  must  be  master- 
pieces, because  he  subscribes  to  the  Dogs'  Home,  and 
doesn't  beat  his  wife." 

"Excellently  put,"  said  Boden,  his  hat  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  his  eyes  beginning  to. shine.  "Do  men  gather 
grapes  off  thistles?"^  ' 

"Constantly.  Th.ere  is  no  relation  whatever  between 
art  and  morality."  Delorme  smoked  pugnaciously.  "The 
greater  the  artist,  generally  speaking,  the  worse  the  man." 

"I  say!     Reaily  as Jbad  as  that?" 

Boden  waved  a  languid  hand  toward  the  smoke-' 
wreathed  phantom  of  Delorme.  The  circle  round  th^ 
two  laughed,  languidly  also,  for  it  was  almost  too  hot 
laugh.  The  circle  consisted  of  Victoria,  Gerald  Tatham, 
Mrs.  Manisty,  and  Colonel  Barton,  who  had  reappeared 
at  luncheon,  in  order  to  urge  Tatham  to  see  Faversham  as 
soon  as  possible  on  certain  local  affairs. 

"Oh!  I  give  you  my  head  in  a  charger,"  said  Delorme, 
not  without  heat.  "  For  you,  Burne-Jones  is  '  pure  '  and 
I  am  'decadent';  because  he  paints  anaemic  knights  in 
sham  armour  and  I  paint  whatT  see." 

"The  one  absolutely  fatal  course!     Don't  you  agree.''" 

Boaen  turned  smiling  to  Mrs.  Manisty,  of  whose  lovely 
head  and  soft  eyes  he  was  conscious  through  all  the 
chatter. 

The  eyes  responded. 

"\^^lat  do  we  see?"  she  said,  with  her  shy  smile. 
"Surely  we  only  see  what  we  think  —  or  dream!" 

"True!"  cried  Delorme;  "but  a  painter  thinks  in 
paint.'' 

"There  you  go,"  said  Boden,  "with  your  esoteric  stuff. 


248  THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA 

All  your  great  painters  have  thought  and  felt  with  the 
multitude  —  painted  for  the  multitude." 

"Never."  The  painter  jerked  away  his  cigar,  and  sat 
up.     "The  multitude  is  a  brute  beast!" 

"A  just  beast,"  murmured  Boden". 

"Anything  but ! "  said  the  painter.  "  But  you  know  my 
views.  In  every  generation,  so  far  as  art  is  concerned, 
there  are  about  thirty  men  who  matter — in  all  the  world! " 

"Artists.'*"     The  voice  was  Lucy  Manisty's. 

"Good  heavens,  no!  Artists  —  and  judges  —  together. 
The  gate  of  art  is  a  deal  straiter  than  the  gate  of 
Heaven." 

Boden  caught  Victoria's  laugh. 

"Let  him  alone,"  he  said,  indulgently.  "His  is  the 
only  aristocracy  I  can  stand  —  with  apologies  to  my 
hostess." 

"Oh,  we're  done  for,"  said  Victoria,  quietly. 

Boden  turned  a  humorous  eye,  first  to  the  great  house 
basking  in  the  sunshine,  then  to  his  hostess. 

"Not  yet.  But  you're  doomed.  As  the  old  Yorkshire- 
man  said  to  his  son,  when  they  were  watching  the  tri- 
umphs of  a  lion-tamer  in  the  travelling  menagerie  — 
that  'genelman's  to  be  wooried  soom  day.'  When  the  real 
Armageddon  comes,  it'll  not  find  you  in  possession. 
You  II  have  gone  down  long  before." 

"Really.?  Then  who  will  be  in  possession?"  asked 
Gerald  Tatham,  a  very  perceptible  sneer  in  his  disagreeable 
voice.  He  disliked  Boden  as  one  of  "the  infernal  Radi- 
cals" whom  Victoria  would  inflict  on  the  sacred  precincts 
of  Duddon,  but  he  was  generally  afraid  of  him  in  con- 
versation. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  24» 

"Merely  the  rich"  —  the  tone  was  still  nonchalant  — 
"the  Haves  against  the  Haven'ts.  No  nonsense  left,  by 
that  time,  about  'blood'  and  'family.'  Society  will 
have  dropped  all  those  little  trimmings  and  embroider- 
ies. We  shall  have  come  to  the  naked  fundamental 
things." 

"The  struggle  of  rich  and  poor.f* "  said  Delorme.  "Pre- 
cisely. That's  what  all  you  fellows  who  go  and  preach 
revolution  to  dockers  are  after.  And  what  on  earth 
would  the  world  do  without  wealth.''  Wealth  is  only 
materiahzed  intelligence!     What's  wrong  with  it?" 

"Only  that  we're  dying  of  it." 

The  young  man  paused.  He  sat  silently  smoking, 
his  eyes  —  unseeing  —  fixed  upon  the  house.  Lucy 
Manisty  looked  at  him  with  sympathy. 

"You  mean,"  she  said,  "that  no  one  who  has  the 
power  to  be  rich  has  now  ever  the  courage  to  be 
poor.'' 

He  nodded,  and  turning  to  her  he  continued  in  a  lower 
voice:  "And  think  what's  lost!  Are  we  all  to  be  smoth- 
ered in  this  paraphemaha  of  servants,  and  motor  cars  and 
gluttonous  living .f*  There's  scarcely  a  man  —  for  instance 
—  among  my  friends  who'll  dare  to  marry !  Hundreds 
used  to  be  enough  —  now  they  must  have  thousands  —  or 
say  their  wives  must.  And  they'll  sell  their  souls  to  get 
the  thousands.  WTio's  the  better  —  who's  the  happier 
for  it  in  the  end?  We  have  left  ourselves  nothing  to  love 
with  —  nothing  to  be  happy  w  ith.  ^Tiat  does  natural 
beauty  —  or  human  feeling  —  matter  to  the  men  who 
spend  their  days  speculating  in  the  City?  I  know  'em. 
I  have  watched  some  of  them  for  years.     It's  a  thirst  that 


250  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

destroys  a  man.  To  want  to  be  rich  is  bad  enough  —  to 
want  to  be  rich  quick  is  death  and  damnation    .    .    ." 

There  was  silence  again,  till  suddenly  Boden  addressed 
Colonel  Barton,  who  was  sitting  opposite  half  asleep  in 
the  sun 

"I  say,  what's  the  name  of  a  village,  about  two  miles 
from  here,  I  walked  through  while  you  were  all  at  church 
this  morning?  —  the  most  God-forsaken  place  I  ever  saw! 
—  a  horrible,  insanitary  hole!" 

"Mainstairs!"  said  Barton,  promptly,  waking  up. 
"That's  the  only  village  hereabout  that  fits  the  descrip- 
tion.    But  Melrose  owns  two  or  three  of  them." 

"The  man  that  owns  that  village  ought  to  be  hung," 
said  Boden  with  quiet  ferocity.  "In  any  decent  state  of 
society  he  would  be  hung." 

Barton  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I'm  on  the  sanitary  authority.  We've  summoned 
him  till  we're  tired,  to  put  those  cottages  in  repair.  No 
use.  Now,  we've  told  him  that  we  shall  repair  them 
ourselves  and  send  in  the  bill  to  him.  That's  stirred  him, 
and  he's  immediately  given  everybody  notice  to  quit  — 
says  he'll  close  the  whole  village.  But  the  people  won't 
go.  There  are  no  other  cottages  for  miles  —  they've 
taken  to  stoning  our  inspectors." 

"And  you  think  our  land  system's  going  to  last  on 
these  terms?"  said  Boden,  his  eyes  flaming. 

The  little  Tory  opposite  drew  himself  up. 

"It's  not  the  system  —  it's  the  man." 

"The  system's  judged  —  that  permits  the  man." 

"Melrose  is  unique,"  said  Barton,  hotly;  "we  are  a 
model  county,  but  for  the  Melrose  estate." 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  251 

"But  the  exception  is  damning!  It  compromises  yoit 
all.  That  such  a  place  as  Mainstairs  should  be  possible  — 
that's  the  point!" 

"For  you  Socialists,  I  daresay!"  cried  Barton.  "The 
rest  of  us  know  better  than  to  expect  a  perfect 
world!" 

Boden  laughed,  the  passion  dying  from  his  face. 

"Ah,  well,  we  shall  have  to  make  you  march  —  you 
fellows  in  possession.  No  hope  —  unless  we  are  'behind 
you  with  a  bradawl ! ' " 

"On  the  contrary!  We  marched  before  you  Socialists 
were  thought  of.  Who  have  put  the  bulk  of  the  cottages 
of  England  in  repair  during  the  last  half  century,  I  should 
like  to  know  —  and  built  most  of  the  new  ones.'^  The 
landlords  of  England!  Who  stands  in  the  way  of  reform 
at  the  present  moment?  The  small  owner.  And  who  are 
the  small  owners.'*     Mainly  Radical  tradesmen." 

Boden  looked  at  him  —  then  queer ly  smiled.  "I  dare- 
say. I  trust  no  man  —  further  than  I  can  see  him.  But 
if  what  you  say  is  true,  why  don't  you  Conservatives  — 
in  your  own  interest  —  coerce  men  like  Melrose.''  He's 
giving  you  away,  every  month  he  exists." 

"Well,  Tatham's  at  it,"  said  Barton  quietly;  "we're 
all  at  it.  And  there's  a  new  agent  just  appointed.  Some- 
thing to  be  hoped  from  him." 

"Who  is  it.?" 

"You  didn't  hear  us  discussing  him  last  night.''  A  man 
called  Claude  Faversham." 

"Claude  Faversham?  A  tall,  dark  fellow  —  writes  a 
little  —  does  a  little  law  —  but  mostly  unemployed?  Oh, 
I  know  him  perfectly.     Faversham?     You  don't  mean 


252  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

it!"  Boden  threw  himseK  back  in  his  chair  with  a  sar- 
castic Hp,  and  reht  his  pipe.  As  he  watched  the  spirals 
of  smoke  he  recalled  the  few  incidents  of  his  acquaintance 
with  the  young  man.  They  had  both  been  among  the 
original  members  of  a  small  club  in  London,  frequented 
by  men  of  letters  and  junior  barristers.  Faversham  had 
long  since  dropped  out  of  the  club,  and  was  now  the 
companion,  so  Boden  understood,  of  much  richer  men, 
and  a  great  frequenter  of  the  Stock  Exchange,  where 
money  is  mysteriously  made  without  working  for  it. 
That  fact  alone  was  enough  for  Cyril  Boden.  He  felt  an 
instinctive,  almost  a  fanatical,  antipathy  toward  the  new 
agent.  On  the  one  side  the  worshippers  of  the  Unbought 
and  the  Unpriced;  on  the  other  Mammon  and  all  his 
troop.  It  was  so  that  Boden  habitually  envisaged  his 
generation.  It  was  so,  and  by  no  other  test,  that  he 
divided  the  sheep  from  the  goats. 

Meanwhile,  Lydia  Penfold,  driving  a  diminutive  pony, 
was  slowly  approaching  the  castle  through  the  avenue  of 
splendid  oaks  which  led  up  to  it.  Faversham  was  walk- 
ing beside  her.  He  had  overtaken  her  at  the  beginning  of 
the  avenue,  and  had  sent  on  his  motor  that  he  might  ha\e 
the  pleasure  of  her  society. 

The  daintiness  of  her  white  dress,  with  aU  its  pretty 
details,  the  touch  of  blue  in  her  hat,  and  at  her  waist, 
delighted  his  eyes.  It  pleased  him  that  there  was  not  a 
trace  in  her  of  Bohemian  carelessness  in  these  respects. 
Everything  was  simple,  but  everything  was  considered. 
She  knew  her  own  beauty;  that  was  clear.  It  gave  her 
self-possession;  but,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  without  a 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  253 

trace  of  conceit.  He  had  never  met  a  young  girl  with 
whom  he  could  talk  so  easily. 

She  had  greeted  him  with  her  most  friendly  smile. 
But  it  seemed  to  him  nevertheless  that  she  was  a  little 
pensive  and  overcast. 

"You  dined  here  last  night?"  he  asked  her.  "Did  the 
lion  roar  properly.?" 

"Magnificently.     You  weren't  there.'" 

"No.  Undershaw  put  down  his  foot.  I  shan't  sub- 
mit much  longer!" 

"You're  really  getting  strong .''" 

Her  kind  eyes  considered  him.  He  had  often  mar- 
velled that  one  so  young  should  be  mistress  of  such  a  look 

—  so  softly  frank  and  unafraid. 

"A  Hercules!  Besides,  the  work's  so  interesting,  one's 
no  time  to  think  of  one's  game  leg!" 

"You're  getting  to  know  the  estate .'*" 

"I've  been  motoring  about  it  for  a  fortnight,  that's 
something  for  a  beginning.  And  I've  got  plenty  of  things 
to  tell  you. 

He  plunged  into  them.  It  was  evident  that  he  was 
resuming  topics  familiar  to  them  both.  Their  talk  indeed 
showed  them  already  intimate,  sharers  in  a  common  enter- 
prise, where  she  was  often  inspiration,  and  he  executive 
and  practical  force.  Ever  since,  indeed,  she  had  said  to 
him  wdth  that  kindled,  eager  look  —  "Accept!  Accept!" 

—  he  had  been  sharply  aware  of  how  best  to  approach,  to 
attract  her.  She  was,  it  seemed,  no  mere  passive  girl. 
She  was  in  her  measure  a  thinker  —  a  character.  He  per- 
ceived in  her  —  deep  down  —  enthusiasms  and  compas- 
sions, that  seemed  often  as  though  they  shook  her  beyond 


^54  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

her  strength.  They  made  him  uncomfortable;  they  were 
strange  to  his  own  mind;  and  yet  they  moved  and  in- 
fluenced him.  During  the  short  time,  for  instance,  that 
she  had  Hved  in  their  midst,  she  had  made  friends  every- 
where —  so  he  discovered  —  among  these  Cumbria  folk. 
She  never  harangued  about  them;  a  few  words,  a  few 
looks,  burning  from  an  inward  fire  —  these  expressed  her: 
as  when,  twice,  he  had  met  her  at  dusk,  with  the  aspect 
of  a  wounded  spirit,  coming  out  of  hovels  that  he  him- 
self must  now  be  ashamed  of,  since  they  were  Melrose's 
hovels. 

"I've  just  come  from  Mainstairs,"  he  said  to  her 
abruptly,  as  the  house  in  front  drew  nearer. 

The  colour  rushed  into  Lydia's  cheeks. 

"Are  you  going  to  put  that  right?" 

"I'm  going  to  try.  I've  been  talking  to  your  old  friend 
Dobbs.  I  saw  his  poor  daughter,  and  I  went  into  most  of 
the  cottages." 

Somewhat  to  his  dismay  he  saw  the  delicate  face 
beside  him  quiver,  and  the  eyes  cloud.  But  the  emotion 
was  driven  back. 

"You're  too  late  —  for  Bessie!"  she  said  —  how  sadly! 
The  accent  touched  him. 

"The  girl  is  really  dying.?^     Was  it  diphtheria.?" 

"She  has  been  dying  for  months  —  and  in  such  pain.'" 

"It  is  paralysis?" 

"After  diphtheria.  Did  they  show  you  the  graves  in  the 
churchyard?  —  they  call  it  the  Innocents'  Corner.  Thirty 
children  died  in  that  village  last  year  and  the  year  before." 

There  was  silence  a  little. 

"I  wonder  what  I  can  do,"  said  Faversham,  at  last, 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  255 

reflectively.  "I  have  been  working  out  a  number  of  new 
proposals  —  and  I  submit  them  to  Mr.  Melrose  to-night." 

She  looked  wistfully  at  the  speaker. 

"Good  luck!     But  Mr.   Melrose  is  hard  to   move." 

Faversham  assented. 

"  The  hope  lies  in  his  being  now  an  old  man  —  and 
anxious  to  get  rid  of  responsibilities.  I  shall  try  to  show 
him  that  bad  citizenship  costs  more  money  than  good." 

"I  hope  —  oh!  I  hope  —  you'll  succeed!"  she  said 
fervently.  Her  emotion  infected  him.  He  smiled  down 
upon  her. 

"That  ought  to  make  me  succeed!  But  of  course  I 
have  no  experience.     I  am  a  towTisman." 

"You've  always  been  a  Londoner.'*" 

"Practically,  always.  But  I  was  tired  of  London 
before  all  this  happened  —  dying  to  get  out  of  it." 

And  he  began  a  short  account  of  himself,  more  intimate 
than  any  he  had  yet  given  her;  to  which  Lydia  listened 
with  her  open,  friendly  look,  perhaps  a  little  shyer  than 
before.  And  so  difiFerent,  instinctively,  is  the  way  in 
which  a  man  will  tell  his  story  to  a  woman,  from  that  in 
which  he  tells  it  to  a  man,  that  the  same  half-ironic,  half- 
bitter  narrative  which  had  repelled  Tatham,  attracted 
Lydia.  Her  sympathy  rose  at  once  to  meet  it.  He  was 
an  orphan,  and  till  now  lonely  and  unsuccessful;  tor- 
mented, too,  by  unsatisfied  ideals  and  ambitions.  Her 
imagination  was  pitiful  and  quick;  she  imagined  she 
understood.  She  liked  his  frankness;  it  flattered  and 
touched  her.  She  hked  his  deep  rich  voice,  and  his  dark 
face,  with  its  lean  strength,  and  almost  southern  colour. 
During  his  illness  he  had  grown  a  small  peaked  beard. 


256  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

and  it  pleased  her  artistic  sense,  by  giving  him  a  look  of 
Cardinal  Richelieu  —  as  that  great  man  stood  figured  in 
an  old  French  print  she  had  picked  up  once  in  a  box  on  the 
Paris  quays.  Moreover  his  friendship  offered  her  so  much 
fresh  knowledge  of  the  world  and  life.  Here,  again,  was 
comradeship.  She  was  lucky  indeed.  Harry  Tatham  — 
and  now  this  clever,  interesting  man,  entering  on  his  task. 
It  was  a  great  responsibility.  She  would  not  fail  either 
of  her  new  friends !  They  knew  —  she  had  made  —  she 
would  make  it  quite  plain,  that  she  was  not  setting  her 
cap  at  either.  Wider  insights,  fresh  powers,  honourable, 
legitimate  powers,  for  her  sex  —  it  was  these  she  was  after. 

In  all  all  this  Lydia  was  perfectly  sincere.  But  the 
Comic  Spirit  sitting  aloft  took  note. 

They  paused  a  moment  on  the  edge  of  the  plateau  on 
which  the  house  stood  —  the  ground  breaking  from  it  to 
the  west.  A  group  of  cottages  appeared  amid  the  woods 
far  away. 

"If  all  estates  were  hke  this  estate!"  cried  Lydia, 
pointing  to  them,  "and  all  cottages  hke  their  cottages!" 

Faversham  flushed  and  stiffened. 

"Oh!  the  Tathams  are  always  perfection!" 

Lydia's  eyebrows  lifted. 

"It  is  a  crime.f^" 

"No  —  but  one  hears  too  much  of  it." 

"Not  from  them!"     The  tone  was  indignant. 

"I  daresay." 

Suddenly,  he  threw  her  a  look  which  startled  her.  She 
descended  from  her  pony -cart  at  the  steps  of  the  castle, 
her  breath  fluttermg  a  little.     WTiat  had  happened? 

"Her  ladyship  is  in  the  garden,"  said  the  footman  who 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  257 

received  them.  And  he  led  the  way  through  a  door  in 
the  wall  of  the  side  court.  They  followed  —  in  a  con- 
strained silence.     Lydia  felt  puzzled,  and  rather  angry. 

Faversham  recovered  himself. 

"I  apologize!     They  have  all  the  virtues." 

His  voice  was  lowered  —  for  her  ear;  there  was  deference 
in  his  smile.  But  somehow  Lydia  was  conscious  of  a  note 
of  stormy  self-assertion  in  him,  which  was  new  to  her; 
something  strong  and  stubborn,  which  refused  to  take  her 
lead  as  usual. 

Lady  Tatham  advanced.  The  eyes  of  a  group  of  people 
sitting  in  a  circle  under  the  shade  of  a  spreading  yew  tree 
turned  toward  them. 

Boden,  who  had  given  Faversham  a  perfunctory  greet- 
ing, fell  back  into  his  chair  again,  and,  watched  the  new 
agent's  reception  with  coolly  smiling  eyes. 

Tatham  came  hurrying  up  to  greet  them.  No  one  but 
Lydia  could  have  distinguished  any  change  in  the  boyish 
voice  and  look.     But  it  was  there.     She  felt  it. 

He  turned  from  her  to  Faversham. 

"Awfully  glad  to  see  you.  Hope  you're  quite  fit 
again." 

"Very  nearly  all  right,  thank  you." 

"Are  you  actually  at  work.^  Great  excitement  every- 
where about  you!" 

Tatham  stood,  with  his  straw  hat  tilted  toward  the 
back  of  his  head,  and  his  hands  on  his  sides,  observing 
his  guest. 

Faversham  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  feel  horribly  nervous!" 


258  THE  JVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Well  you  may!"  laughed  Tatham.  "Never  mind. 
We'll  all  back  you  up,  if  you'll  let  us." 

"As  far  as  I  am  concerned  —  the  smallest  contributions 
thankfullj^  received.     WTio  are  these  people  here.^" 

Tatham  introduced  him. 

Then  to  Lydia: 

"Delorme  is  waiting  for  you."     He  carried  her  off. 

By  this  time  Mr.  Andov'er,  the  old  grizzled  squire  who 
had  been  Lydia's  partner  at  dinner  the  night  before,  had 
dropped  in,  and  various  other  residents  from  the  neigh- 
bourhood. They  gathered  eagerly  round  Faversham,  in 
the  deep  shade  of  the  yews. 

And  before  long,  the  new  man  had  produced  an  excel- 
lent first  impression  upon  these  country  gentlemen  who 
were  now  to  be  his  neighbours.  It  was  evident  that  he 
was  anxious  to  remove  grievances.  His  tone  as  to  his 
employer  was  guarded,  but  not  at  all  servile;  and  he 
made  the  impression  of  a  man  of  abihty  accustomed  to 
business,  though  modestly  avowing  his  ignorance  of  rural 
affairs;  independent,  yet  anxious  to  do  his  best  with  a 
great  trust. 

After  half  an  hour's  discussion,  Barton  drew  Victoria 
aside,  and  said  to  her  excitedly  that  the  new  agent  was 
"a  capital  fellow!" 

"He'll  do  the  job,  you'll  see!  Melrose  is  breaking 
up  —  thank  God!  Every  one  who's  seen  him  lately  says 
he's  not  half  the  man  he  was.  He'll  have  to  give  this 
fellow  a  free  hand.  That  estate  has  been  a  plague-spot! 
But  we'll  get  it  cleared  up  now." 

Victoria  wondered.  Secretly,  she  doubted  the  power 
of  any  man  to  manage  Melrose  even  moriturixs. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  259 

Meanwhile  it  had  not  escaped  her  that  the  new  agent 
and  Lydia  Penfold  had  arrived  together.  It  had  struck 
her  also  that  their  manner  toward  each  other,  as  she 
went  to  meet  them,  had  been  the  manner  of  persons  just 
emerged  from  a  somewhat  intimate  conversation.  And 
she  already  perceived  the  nascent  jealousy  in  Harry. 

Well,  no  doubt  the  agent  also  was  to  be  practised 
on  by  these  newfangled  arts.  For  no  girl  could  have 
had  the  audacity  to  make  the  compact  Lydia  Penfold 
had  made  with  Harry,  if  she  were  already  in  love  with 
another  man!  No.  Faversham,  it  was  plain,  would  be 
the  next  added  to  her  train.  Victoria  beheld  the  golden- 
haired  creature  as  the  modern  Circe,  surrounded  by 
troops  of  ex-suitors  —  lovers  transmogrified  to  friends  — 
docile  at  the  heel  of  the  sorceress.  You  took  your  chance, 
received  your  "No,"  and  subsided  cheerfully  into  the  pen. 
^'ictoria  vowed  to  herself  that  her  Harry  should  do 
nothing  of  the  kind ! 

She  looked  round  her  for  the  presumptuous  maiden. 
There  she  was,  under  a  fountain  wall  in  the  Italian  garden, 
her  white  dress  gleaming  from  the  warm  shadow  in  which 
the  stone  was  steeped;  Delorme,  with  an  easel,  in  front. 
He  was  making  a  rapid  charcoal  sketch  of  her,  and  she 
was  sitting  daintily  erect,  talking  and  smiling  at  intervals. 
A  little  way  off,  a  group  of  people,  critical  observers 
of  the  proceeding,  lounged  on  the  grass  or  in  garden 
chairs;  among  them,  Tatham.  And  as  he  sat  watching 
the  sitting,  his  hat  drawn  forward  over  his  brow  and  eyes, 
although  he  chatted  occasionally  with  Mrs.  Manisty 
beside  him,  his  mother  was  miserably  certain  that  he  was 
in  truth  alive  to  nothing  but  the  white  vision  under  the 


260  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

wall  —  the  delicate  three-quarter  face,  with  its  pointed 
chin,  and  the  wisps  of  gold  hair  blowing  about  the  temples. 

And  the  owner  of  the  face!  Was  she  quite  unmoved 
by  a  situation  which  might,  Victoria  felt,  have  strained 
the  nerves  even  of  the  experienced? 

A  sHght  incident  seemed  to  show  that  she  was  not 
unmoved.  Lydia  had  shown  a  keen,  girlish  pleasure  in 
the  prospect  of  sitting  to  Delorme,  the  god,  professionally, 
of  her  idolatry.  Yet  the  sketch,  for  that  afternoon,  came 
to  nothing.  For  after  an  hour's  sitting  Delorme,  as 
usual,  became  restless  and  excited,  exclaimed  at  the 
difficulty  of  the  subject,  cursed  the  light,  and  finally,  in  a 
fit  of  disgust,  wiped  out  everything  he  had  done.  Lydia 
rose  from  her  seat,  looking  rather  white,  and  threw  a 
strange,  appealing  glance  —  the  mother  caught  it  —  at  her 
young  host.  Tatham  sprang  up,  released  her  instantly 
and  peremptorily,  though  Delorme  implored  for  another 
haK-hour.  Lydia,  unheard  by  the  artist,  gave  soft  thanks 
to  her  dehverer,  and,  presently,  there  they  were  —  she  and 
Harry  —  stroUing  up  and  down  the  rose-aUeys  together, 
as  though  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  had  happened. 

And  yet  Harry  had  only  asked  her  to  marry  him  the 
night  before,  and  she  had  only  refused!  Impossible  to 
suppose  that  it  was  the  mere  plotting  of  the  finished 
coquette.  This  lover  required  neither  teasing  nor  kind- 
ling. 

However,  there  it  was.  This  httle  struggling  artist  had 
refused  Harry;  and  she  had  refused  Duddon. 

For  one  could  not  be  so  absurd  as  to  ignore  that.  Vic- 
toria, sitting  in  the  shade  beside  Lady  Barbara,  who  had 
gone  to  sleep,  looked  dreamily  round  on  the  rose-red 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  261 

pile  of  building,  on  the  great  engirdling  woods,  the  hills, 
the  silver  reaches  of  river  —  interwoven  now  with  the 
dark  tree-masses,  now  with  glades  of  sunlit  pasture. 
Duddon  was  one  of  the  great  possessions  of  England.  And 
this  slip  of  a  girl,  with  her  home-made  blouses,  and  her 
joy  in  making  twenty  pounds  out  of  her  drawings,  where- 
with to  pay  the  rent,  had  put  it  aside,  apparently  without 
a  moment's  hesitation.     Magnanimity  —  or  stupidity? 

The  next  moment  Victoria  was  despising  her  own 
amazement.  "One  takes  one's  own  lofty  feehngs  for 
granted  —  but  never  other  people's !  She  says  she  doesn't 
love  him  —  and  that's  the  reason.  And  I  straightway 
don't  believe  her.  What  snobs  we  all  are!  One's  as- 
tonishment betrays  one's  standard.  Gerald  says,  '  What 
have  the  poor  to  do  with  fine  feehngs? '  and  I  detest  him 
for  it.     But  I'm  no  better," 

Suddenly,  on  the  other  side  of  the  yew  hedge  behind 
her  —  voices.  Harry  and  Lydia  Penfold,  in  eager  and 
laughing  discussion.  And  all  at  once  a  name  reached  her 
ears: 

"Lydia"  —  pronounced  rather  shyly,  in  Tatham's 
voice. 

"'Lydia!"  No  doubt  by  the  bidding  of  the  young 
lady. 

"I  did  not  know  I  was  so  old-fashioned,"  thought 
Lady  Tatham  indignantly. 

Yet  the  tone  in  which  the  name  was  given  was  neither 
caressing  nor  tender.  It  simply  meant,  of  course,  that 
the  young  woman  was  breaking  him  in  to  her  ideas;  her 
absurd  ideas,  from  which  Harry  must  be  protected. 

They  emerged  from  the  shrubbery  and  came  toward 


262  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

her.  Lydia  timidly  approached  Victoria.  With  Tatham 
she  had  not  apparently  been  tiniid.  But  for  his  mother 
she  was  all  deference  , 

"Isn't  there  a  flower-show  here  to-morrow.'*  May 
Susan  and  I  come  and  help.''" 

The  speaker  raised  her  eyes  to  Lady  Tatham,  and 
Victoria  read  in  them  something  beautiful  and  appealing, 
that  at  once  moved  and  angered  her.  The  girl  seemed 
to  offer  her  heart  to  Tatham's  mother. 

"/  can't  marry  your  son!  —  but  let  me  kwe  you  —  be  your 
friend!  —  the  friend  of  both." 

Was  that  what  it  meant? 

What  could  Victoria  do.'  There  was  Harry  hovering 
in  the  background,  with  that  eager,  pale  look.  She  was 
helpless.  Mechanically  she  said,  "We  shall  be  dehghted 
—  grateful.     I  will  send  for  you." 

Thenceforward,  however,  Lydia  allowed  Tatham  no 
more  private  speech  with  her.  She  made  herself  agreeable 
to  all  Victoria's  guests  in  turn.  Delorme  fell  head  over 
ears  in  love  with  her,  so  judicious,  yet  so  evidentlj^  sin- 
cere were  the  flatteries  she  turned  upon  him,  and  so  docile 
her  consent  to  another  sitting.  Sweet,  grave  liUcy  Man- 
isty  watched  her  with  fascination.  The  Manisty  boy 
dragged  her  to  the  Long  Pond,  to  show  her  the  water- 
beasts  there,  as  the  best  way  of  marking  his  approval. 
Colonel  Barton  forgot  politics  to  chat  with  her;  and  the 
mocking  speculation  in  Cyril  Boden's  eyes  gradually 
softened,  as  the  girl's  charm  and  beauty  penetrated,  little 
by  little,  through  all  the  company. 

Faversham  alone  seemed  to  have  no  innings  with  her 
till  he  was  about  to  take  his  departure.     Then  Victoria 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  263 

noticed  that  Lydia  made  a  quick  movement  toward  him, 
and  they  stood  together  a  few  minutes,  talking  —  cer- 
tainly not  as  strangers. 

Gerald  Tatham  also  noticed  it.  There  M^ere  few  things, 
within  his  powers,  that  he  left  unnoticed. 

"Now  thai  would  be  suitable!"  he  said  in  Lady  Bar- 
bara's ear,  nodding  toward  the  pair.  "You  saw  how 
they  came  in  together.  But  of  course  it's  a  blind.  Any 
one  with  half  an  eye  can  see  that  she's  just  fishing  fo2 
Harry!" 


XII 

FAVERSHAM  sped  home  through  the  winding 
Cumbrian  lanes,  driven  by  the  new  chauffeur  just 
imported  from  Manchester.  The  hedges  were 
thick  with  meadow-sweet  and  its  scent,  mingled  with  that 
of  new-mown  hay,  hung  in  the  hot,  still  air.  In  front  of 
him  the  Ulls water  mountains  showed  dimly  blue.  It  was 
a  country  he  was  beginning  to  love.  His  heart  rose  to  it. 
Small  wonder  in  that !  For  here,  in  this  northern  land- 
scape, so  strange  to  him  but  three  months  ago,  he  had 
iirst  stumbled  on  Success  —  and  he  had  first  met  Lydia. 
Was  there  any  chance  for  him?  Through  all  his  talks 
wiih.  the  country  neighbours,  or  with  Lady  Tatham,  he 
had  been  keenly  on  the  watch  for  anything  that  miglit 
show  him  what  Lydia's  position  in  the  Duddon  Castle 
circle  actually  was.  That  Tatham  was  in  love  with  her 
was  clear,  Mrs.  Penfold's  chatter  as  to  the  daily  homage 
paid  by  the  castle  to  the  cottage,  through  every  channel 
— courtesies  or  gifts — that  the  Tathams'  dehcacy  could  in- 
vent, or  the  Penfolds'  dehcacy  accept,  had  convinced  him 
on  that  point.  And  Faversham  had  seen  for  himself 
at  Duddon  that  Tatham  hung  upon  her  every  move- 
ment and  always  knew  where  she  was  and  to  whom  she 
was  talking;  nor  had  the  long  conversation  in  the  rose- 
walk  escaped  him. 

Well,  of  course,  in  the  case  of  any  other  girl  in  the  world 

264 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  265 

than  Lydia,  such  things  would  be  conclusive.  Who  was 
likely  to  refuse  Tatham,  plus  the  Tatham  estates?  But 
unless  he  had  mistaken  her  altogether  —  her  detachment, 
her  unworldliness,  her  high  spirit  —  Lydia  Penfold  was 
not  the  girl  to  marry  an  estate.  And  if  Tatham  himself 
had  touched  her  heart  — "would  she  have  allowed  me  the 
play  with  her  that  she  has  done  this  last  fortnight.?" 
She  would  have  been  absorbed,  preoccupied;  and  she  had 
been  neither.  He  thought  of  her  kind  eyes,  her  frank, 
welcoming  ways,  her  intense  interest  in  his  fortunes. 
Impossible  —  if  she  were  in  love  with  or  on  the  point  of 
an  engagement  to  Harry  Tatham. 

She  had  forgiven  him  for  his  touch  of  jealous  ill-temper ! 
As  they  stood  together  at  the  last  in  the  Duddon  garden, 
she  had  said,  "I  miLst  hear  about  to-night !  send  me  a 
word!"  And  he  carried  still,  stamped  upon  his  mind, 
the  vision  of  her  —  half  shy,  half  eager  —  looking  up. 

For  the  rest,  the  passion  that  was  rapidly  rising  in  the 
veins  of  a  man  full  of  life  and  will,  surprised  the  man 
himself,  excited  in  him  a  new  complacency  and  self- 
respect.  For  years  he  had  said  to  himself  that  he  could 
only  marry  money.  He  remembered  with  a  blush  one 
or  two  rather  sordid  steps  in  that  direction  —  happily 
futile.  But  Lydia  was  penniless;  and  he  could  make  her 
rich.  For  his  career  was  only  beginning;  and  on  wealth, 
the  wealth  which  is  power,  he  was  more  than  ever  deter- 
mined. 

A  turn  in  the  road  brought  Threlfall  into  view.  The 
new  agent  sat  with  folded  arms,  gazing  at  the  distant 
outline,  and  steadily  pulUng  himseK  together  to  meet  the 
ordeal  of  the  evening.     It  was  by  Melrose's  own  wish  he 


266  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

had  drawn  up  a  careful  scheme  of  the  alterations  and 
improvements  which  seemed  to  him  imperatively  neces- 
sary in  the  financial  interests  of  the  estate;  and  he  had 
added  to  it  a  statement  —  very  cautious  and  diplomatic  — 
of  the  various  public  and  private  quarrels  in  which  Melrose 
was  now  concerned,  with  suggestions  as  to  what  could  be 
done  to  straighten  them  out.  With  regard  to  two  or 
three  of  them  litigation  was  already  going  on;  had, 
indeed,  been  going  on  interrainabl3^  Faversham  was 
certain  that  with  a  little  good-will  and  a  very  moderate 
amount  of  money  he  could  settle  the  majority  of  them  in 
a  week. 

So  far  Melrose  had  been  fairly  amenable  —  had  given  a 
curt  assent,  for  instance,  to  the  conditions  on  which 
Faversham  had  proposed  to  relet  two  of  the  vacant  farms, 
and  to  one  or  two  other  changes.  But  Faversham  realized 
that  he  possessed  no  true  knowledge  of  the  old  man's 
mind  and  temperament.  Exultant  though  he  often  felt 
in  his  new  office,  and  the  preposterously  large  salary  at- 
tached to  it,  he  reminded  himself  constantly  that  he  trod 
on  unsure  ground.  Once  or  twice  he  had  been  conscious 
of  a  strange  sense  as  of  some  couchant  beast  beside  him 
ready  to  spring;  also  of  some  curious  weakening  and 
disintegration  in  Melrose,  even  since  he  had  first  known 
him.  He  seemed  to  be  more  incalculable,  less  to  be  de- 
pended on.  His  memory  was  often  faulty,  and  his  irri- 
tability hardly  sane. 

Faversham  indeed  was  certain,  from  his  own  observa- 
tion, that  the  mere  excitement  of  opening  and  exploring 
the  huge  collections  he  had  accumulated,  during  these 
twenty  years,  in  the  locked  rooms  of  the  house,  had  im- 


THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA  267 

posed  a  sharp  nervous  strain  on  a  man  now  past  seventy, 
who  for  all  the  latter  part  of  his  hfe  had  taken  no  exercise 
and  smoked  incessantly. 

Supposing  he  were  suddenly  to  fall  ill  and  die  —  what 
would  happen  to  the  house  and  its  collections,  or  to  the 
immense  fortime,  the  proportions  of  which  the  new  agent 
was  now  slowly  begirming  to  appreciate?  All  sorts  of 
questions  with  regard  to  the  vanished  wife  and  child  were 
now  rising  insistently  in  Faversham's  mind.  Were  they 
really  dead,  and  if  so,  how  and  where?  Once  or  twice, 
since  his  acceptance  of  the  agency,  Melrose  had  repeated 
to  him  with  emphasis:  "I  am  alone  in  the  world." 
Dixon  and  his  wife  preserved  an  absolute  silence  on  the 
subject,  and  loyalty  to  his  employer  forbade  Faversham 
to  question  them  or  any  other  of  Melrose's  dependents. 
It  struck  him,  indeed,  that  Mrs.  Dixon  had  shown  a 
curious  agitation  when,  that  morning,  Faversham  had 
conveyed  to  her  Melrose's  instructions  to  prepare  a 
certain  room  on  the  first  floor  as  the  agent's  future  bed- 
room. 

"Aye,  sir,  aye  —  but  it  wor  Mrs.  Melrose's  room,"  she 
had  said,  looking  down,  her  lip  twitching  a  little,  her  old 
hands  fumbling  with  the  strings  of  her  apron. 

Faversham  had  asked  uncomfortably  whether  there 
were  not  some  other  room  in  a  less  conspicuous  part 
of  the  house  to  which  he  might  be  transferred,  the  once 
dismantled  drawing-room  being  now  wanted  to  house  the 
fine  things  that  were  constantly  coming  to  fight.  Mrs. 
Dixon  shook  her  head.  All  the  available  rooms  were  still 
full  of  what  she  called  "stoof."  And  then  she  had 
abruptly  left  him. 


268  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

The  light  was  fast  faihng  as  he  approached  the  house. 
By  the  shearing  away  of  trees  and  creeper,  at  least  from 
all  its  central  and  eastern  parts,  Threlfall  had  now  lost 
much  of  its  savage  picturesqueness ;  the  formal  garden 
within  the  forecourt  had  been  to  some  extent  restored; 
and  the  front  door  had  received  a  coat  or  two  of  paint. 
But  the  whole  of  the  west  wing  was  still  practically 
untouched.  There  they  still  were  —  the  shuttered  and 
overgrown  windows.  Faversham  looked  at  them  ex- 
pectantly. The  exploration  of  the  house  roused  in  him 
now  the  same  kind  of  excitement  that  drives  on  the 
excavators  of  Delphi  or  Ephesus,  or  the  divers  for  Spanish 
treasure.  He  and  Melrose  had  already  dug  out  so  many 
precious  things  —  things  many  of  them  which  had  long 
sunk  below  the  surface  of  the  old  man's  memory  —  that 
heaven  only  knew  what  might  turn  up.  The  passion  of 
adventure  ran  high;  he  longed  to  be  at  the  business  again 
and  was  sorry  to  think  it  must  some  day  have  an  end. 

That  broken  window,  for  instance,  now  widely  open  in 
the  west  wing,  was  the  window  of  the  room  they  had 
forced  on  the  previous  day.  In  general,  ]Melrose  pos- 
sessed some  rough  record  of  the  contents  of  the  locked 
rooms,  and  their  labelled  keys;  but  in  this  case  both 
record  and  label  had  been  lost.  A  small  amount  of 
violence,  however,  had  suJBSced  to  open  the  half-rotten 
door.  Inside  —  thick  darkness,  save  for  one  faint  gleam 
through  a  dilapidated  shutter.  As  Faversham  advanced, 
groping  into  the  room,  there  was  a  sudden  scurry  of  mice, 
and  a  sudden  flapping  of  something  in  a  corner,  which 
turned  out  to  be  a  couple  of  bats.  When  he  made  for  the 
window,  dense  cobwebs  brushed  against  his  face,  and  half 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  269 

the  shutter  on  which  he  laid  his  hand  came  away  at  his 
touch  and  lay  in  fragments  at  his  feet.  The  rain  had 
come  in  for  twenty  years  through  a  broken  pane,  and  had 
completely  rotted  the  wood.  Strange  noises  in  the  chim- 
ney showed  that  owls  had  built  there;  and  as  the  shutter 
fell  a  hideous  nest  of  earwigs  was  disturbed,  and  ran  hither 
and  thither  over  the  floor. 

And  when  Faversham  turned  to  look  at  the  contents  of 
the  room,  he  saw  Melrose  in  his  skullcap,  poking  about 
among  a  medley  of  black  objects  on  the  floor  and  in  a 
open  cupboard,  his  withered  cheeks  ghastly  in  the  sudden 
daylight. 

"What  are  they.?"  asked  Faversham,  wondering. 

"Silver,"  was  the  sharp  reply.  "Some  of  the  finest 
things  known." 

And  from  the  filthy  cupboard  Melrose's  shaking  hand 
had  drawn  out  a  ewer  and  basin,  whence  some  ragged 
coverings  fell  away.  It  was  almost  entirely  black;  but 
the  exquisite  work  of  it  —  the  spiral  fluting  of  the  ewer,  its 
shell-like  cover,  the  winged  dragon  on  the  handle,  and, 
round  the  oval  basin,  the  rim  of  chasing  dolphins,  could 
still  be  seen. 

"That  came  from  the  Wolfgang  sale  —  I  gave  six 
hundred  for  it.  It's  worth  six  thousand  now  —  you  can't 
find  such  a  piece  anyw^here.  Ah!  by  George!"  —  with  a 
stifled  shout  —  "and  that's  the  Demidoff  tazza!"  —  as 
Faversham  lifted  up  a  thing  lying  in  a  half-open  box  that 
might  have  been  ebony  —  a  shallow  cup  on  a  stem,  with  a 
young  vine-crowned  Bacchus  for  a  handle.  Melrose  took 
it  eagerly,  put  up  his  eyeglass,  and,  rubbing  away  with 
his  handkerchief,  searched  for  the  mark.     "There  it  is!  — 


270  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

a  Caduceus  and  1620.  And  the  signature  —  see! — 'A. 
D.  Viana.'  There  was  a  cup  signed  by  Viana  sold  last 
week  at  Christie's  —  fetched  a  fabulous  sum!  Every 
single  thing  in  this  room  is  worth  treble  and  quadruple 
what  I  gave  for  it.  Talk  of  investments!  There  are  no 
such  investments  as  works  of  art.  Buy  'em,  I  say  — 
lock  'em  up  —  and  forget  'em  for  twenty  years!" 

With  much  labour,  they  had  at  last  ranged  the  most 
important  pieces  on  some  trestle  tables  and  in  the  cup- 
boards of  the  room.  A  number  of  smaller  boxes  and 
packages  still  remained  to  be  looked  through.  Faver- 
sham,  by  Melrose's  directions,  had  written  to  a  London 
firm  of  dealers  in  antique  silver,  directing  them  to  send 
down  two  of  their  best  men  to  clean,  mend,  and  catalogue. 
Proper  glazed  cupboards,  baize-lined,  were  to  be  put  up 
along  each  side  of  the  room;  the  room  itself  was  to  be 
repaired,  whitened,  and  painted.  Faversham  already 
foresaw  the  gleaming  splendour  of  the  show,  when  all 
should  be  done,  and  these  marvels  of  a  most  lovely  art  — 
these  silver  nymphs  and  fauns,  these  dainty  sea-horses  and 
dolphins,  these  temples  and  shrines,  now  holding  a  Her- 
cules, now  a  St.  Sebastian,  these  arabesques,  garlands, 
festoons,  running  in  a  riot  of  beauty  over  the  surface  of 
cup  and  salver  —  had  been  restored  to  daylight  and  men's 
sight,  after  the  burial  of  a  generation. 

But  the  value  of  what  the  house  contained!  In  these 
days  of  huge  prices  and  hungry  buyers,  it  must  be  simply 
enormous. 

Faversham  often  found  himself  speculating  eagerly 
upon  it,  and  always  with  the  query  in  the  background 
"For  whom  is  it  all  piling  up?" 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  271 

As  they  left  the  silver  room,  Melrose  had  made  the 
grim  remark  that  the  contents  of  that  room  alone  would 
make  it  prudent  to  let  loose  an  extra  couple  of  blood- 
hounds in  the  park  at  night.  Dixon's  frowning  counte- 
nance as  he  followed  in  their  wake  showed  an  answering 
anxiety.  For  he  had  now  been  made  guardian  of  the 
collections;  and  a  raw  nephew  of  his,  chosen  apparently 
for  his  honesty  and  his  speechlessness,  had  been  put  on  as 
manservant,  Mrs.  Dixon  had  two  housemaids  under  her, 
and  a  girl  in  the  kitchen.  It  was  sometimes  evident  to 
Faversham  that  the  agitation  of  these  changes  which  had 
come  so  suddenly  upon  them,  had  aged  the  two  old  ser- 
vants, just  as  it  had  tried  their  master. 

Faversham  on  dismounting  was  told  by  Joseph,  the 
new  man,  that  Mr.  Melrose  would  dine  alone,  but  would 
be  glad  to  see  Mr.  Faversham  in  the  library  after  dinner. 

Faversham  made  a  quick  and  sparing  meal  in  his  own 
room,  and  then  adjourning  to  his  newly  furnished  office 
ran  eagerly  through  the  various  papers  and  proposals 
which  he  had  to  lay  before  his  employer. 

As  he  did  so,  he  was  more  conscious  than  ever  before 
of  the  enormity  of  Melrose's  whole  career  as  a  landowner. 
The  fact  was  that  the  estate  had  been  for  years  a  mere 
field  for  the  display  of  its  owner's  worst  qualities  — 
caprice,  miserliness,  jealous  or  vindictive  love  of  power. 
The  finance  of  it  mattered  nothing  to  him.  Had  he  been 
a  poorer  man  his  landed  property  might  have  had  a 
chance;  he  would  have  been  forced  to  run  it  more  or  less 
on  business  lines.  But  his  immense  income  came  to  him 
apparently  from  quite  other  sources  —  mines,  railways. 


272  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

foreign  investments;  and  with  all  the  human  relations^ 
involved  in  landowning  he  was  totally  unfit  to  deal. 

Hence  these  endless  quarrels  with  his  tenants  to  whom 
he  never  allowed  a  lease;  these  constant  evictions;  these 
litigations  as  to  improvements,  compensation,  and  heaven 
knows  what.  The  land  was  naturally  of  excellent  quahty, 
and  many  a  tenant  came  in  with  high  hopes,  only  to  find 
that  the  promises  on  the  strength  of  which  he  had  taken 
his  farm  were  never  fulfilled,  and  that  if  it  came  to  lawyers, 
Melrose  generally  managed  "to  best  it."  Hence,  too,  the 
rotten,  insanitary  cottages  —  maintained,  Faversham 
could  almost  swear,  for  the  mere  sake  of  defying  the  local 
authorities  and  teaching  "those  Sociahst  fools"  a  lesson. 
Hence  the  constant  charges  of  persecution  for  poHtical 
reasons;  and  hence,  too,  tliis  bad  case  of  the  Brands,  which 
had  roused  such  a  strong  and  angry  sympathy  in  the 
neighbourhood  that  Faversham  felt  the  success  of  his  own 
regime  must  be  endangered  unless  some  means  could  be 
found,  compatible  with  Mehose's  arrogance,  of  helping 
the  ruined  family. 

Well,  there  in  those  clear  typewritten  sheets,  lay  his 
suggestions  for  dealing  with  these  various  injustices 
and  infamies.  They  were  moderate.  Expensive  for  the 
moment,  they  would  be  economical  in  the  long  run.  He 
had  given  them  his  best  brains  and  his  hardest  work.  And 
he  had  taken  the  best  advice.  But  they  meant,  no  doubt, 
a  complete  change  in  the  administration  and  'personnel  of 
the  estate. 

Faversham  stepped  into  the  garden,  and,  hanging  over 
the  low  wall  which  edged  the  sandstone  cliff,  he  looked 
out  over  the  gorge  of  the  river,  across  the  woods,  into 


THE  JVIATING  OF  LYDIA  273 

the  ravines  and  gullies  of  the  fells.  Mountain  and  wood 
stood  dark  against  a  saffron  sky.  In  the  dim  blue  above 
it  Venus  sailed.  A  light  wind  stirred  the  trees  and  the 
stream.  Along  the  river  meadows  he  could  hear  the  cows 
munching  and  see  their  dusky  forms  moving  through  a 
thin  mist.  The  air  was  amethyst  and  gold,  and  the 
beautiful  earth  shone  through  it,  ennobled  by  the  large 
indistinctness,  the  quiet  massing  of  the  evening  tones. 

His  heart  withdrew  itself  into  some  inner  shrine  where 
it  might  be  with  Lydia.  She  represented  to  him  some 
force,  some  help,  to  which  he  turned. 

Please  God,  he  would  win  her!  —  and  through  a  piece  of 
honourable  work  —  the  cleansing  of  an  ugly  corner  of 
human  life.  A  nobler  ambition  than  he  had  ever  yet 
been  conscious  of,  entered  in.  He  felt  himself  a  better 
man,  with  a  purpose  in  the  world. 

Nor,  at  this  critical  moment,  did  he  forget  his  uncle  — 
the  man  who  had  been  a  father  to  him  in  his  orphaned 
boyhood.  What  pleasure  the  dear  old  fellow  would  have 
taken  in  this  new  opening  —  and  in  Melrose's  marvellous 
possessions!  By  the  way  —  Melrose  had  said  nothing 
about  the  gems  for  a  long  time  past,  and  Faversham  was 
well  content  to  leave  them  in  his  temporary  keeping. 
But  his  superstitious  feeling  about  them  —  and  all  men 
have  some  touch  of  superstition  —  was  stronger  than  ever. 
It  was  as  though  he  protested  anew  to  some  hovering 
shape,  which  took  the  aspect  now  of  Mackworth,  now  of 
Fortuna  —  "Stand  by  me!  —  even  as  I  hold  by  them." 

The  chiming  clock  in  the  gallery  —  a  marvel  of  French 
horlogeriey    made    for    the    Begent    Orleans  —  had    just 


274  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

finished  striking  eleven.  Melrose,  who  had  been  speaking 
with  energy  through  the  soft,  repeated  notes,  threw  him- 
self back  in  his  chair,  and  lit  a  cigarette.  His  white  hair 
shone  against  the  panelled  backgTound  of  the  room,  and, 
beneath  it,  framed  in  bushy  brows  still  black,  a  pair  of 
menacing  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  Faversham. 

Faversham  remained  for  a  minute  at  the  table,  looking 
down  upon  it,  his  hand  resting  on  the  document  from 
which  he  had  been  reading.  Then  he  too  pushed  his  chair 
slowly  backward,  and  looked  up. 

"I  understand  then,  Mr.  Melrose,  that  these  proposals 
of  mine  do  not  meet  with  your  approval  .f*" 

"I  have  told  you  what  I  approve." 

"You  have  approved  a  few  matters  —  of  minor  im- 
portance. But  my  chief  proposals"  —  he  ran  his  finger 
lightly  over  the  pages  of  his  memorandum,  enumerating 
the  various  headings  —  "these,  if  I  have  understood  you 
correctly,  are  not  to  your  mind,  and  you  refuse  to  sanction 
them?" 

The  face  before  him  was  as  iron. 

"Let  half  these  things  wait,  I  tell  you,  and  they  will 
settle  themselves.  I  pointed  out  to  you  when  we  made 
our  bargain,  that  I  would  not  have  my  estate  run  on  any 
damned  Socialist  principles." 

Faversham  smiled;  but  he  had  grown  very  pale.  "Your 
financial  profit,  Mr.  Melrose,  and  the  business  manage- 
ment of  your  property  have  been  my  sole  concern." 

"I  am  sure  that  you  think  so.  But  as  to  what  is  profit 
and  what  is  business,  you  must  allow  me  to  be  the  final 
judge." 

Faversham  thought  a  moment,  then  rose,  and  walked 


Faversham  !     Don't  be  a  fool  !    I  have  something  to 
say  to  you  a  deal  more  important  than  this 
damned  nonsense ' ' 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  275 

quietly  up  and  down  the  length  of  the  room,  his  hands 
in  his  pockets.  The  old  man  watched  him,  his  haughty 
look  and  regular  features  illuminated  by  the  lamp  beside 
him.  In  front  of  him  was  the  famous  French  table, 
crowded  as  usual  with  a  multitude  of  miscellaneous  ohjets 
(Tart,  conspicuous  among  them  a  pair  of  Tanagra  figures, 
white  visions  of  pure  grace,  amid  the  dusty  confusion  of 
their  surroundings. 

Suddenly  Melrose  flung  his  cigarette  vehemently  away. 

"Faversham!  Don't  be  a  fool!  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you  a  deal  more  important  than  this  damned 
nonsense! "  He  struck  his  hand  on  the  open  memorandum. 

Faversham  turned  in  astonishment. 

"Sit  down  again!"  said  Melrose  peremptorily,  "and 
listen  to  me.  I  desire  to  put  things  as  plainly  and  simply 
as  possible.     But  I  must  have  all  your  attention." 

Faversham  sat  down.  Melrose  was  now  standing,  his 
hands  on  the  back  of  the  chair  from  which  he  had  risen. 

"I  have  just  made  my  will,"  he  said  abruptly.  "To- 
morrow I  hope  to  sign  it.  It  depends  on  you  whether  I 
sign  it  or  not." 

As  the  speaker  paused,  Faversham,  leaning  back  and 
fronting  him,  grew  visibly  rigid.  An  intense  and  startled 
expectancy  dawned  in  his  face;  his  lips  parted. 

"My  will,"  Melrose  continued,  in  a  deliberately  even 
voice,  "concerns  a  fortune  of  rather  more  —  than  a  mil- 
lion sterling  —  allowing  little  or  nothing  for  the  contents 
of  this  house.  I  inherited  a  great  deal,  and  by  the 
methods  I  have  adopted  —  not  the  methods,  my  dear 
Faversham,  I  may  say,  that  you  have  been  recommending 
to  me  to-night.       I  have  more  than  doubled  it.     I  have 


276  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

given  nothing  away  to  worthless  people,  and  no  sloppy- 
philanthropies  have  stood  between  me  and  the  advantages 
to  which  my  knowledge  and  my  brains  entitled  me. 
Hence  these  accumulations.  Now,  the  question  is,  what 
is  to  be  done  with  them?  I  am  alone  in  the  world.  I 
have  no  interest  whatever  in  building  universities,  or 
providing  free  hbraries,  or  subsidizmg  hospitals.  I  didn't 
make  the  world,  and  I  have  never  seen  why  I  should  spend 
my  energies  in  trying  to  mend  what  the  Demiurge  has 
made  a  mess  of.  In  my  view  the  object  of  everybody 
should  be  to  live,  as  acutely  as  possible  —  to  get  as  many 
sensations,  as  many  pleasant  reactions  as  possible  —  out 
of  the  day.  Some  people  get  their  sensations  —  or  say 
they  do  —  out  of  fussing  about  the  poor.  Forty  years  ago 
I  got  them  out  of  politics  —  or  racing  —  or  high  play. 
For  years  past,  as  you  know,  I  have  got  them  out  of  col- 
lecting works  of  art  —  and  fighting  the  other  people  in  the 
world  who  want  the  same  things  that  I  do.  Perfectly 
legitimate  in  my  belief!  I  make  no  apology  whatever  for 
my  existence.  Well,  now  then,  I  begin  to  be  old  —  don't 
interrupt  me  —  I  don't  hke  it,  but  I  recognize  the  fact. 
I  have  various  ailments.  Doctors  are  mostly  fools;  but 
I  admit  that  in  my  case  they  may  be  right;  though  I 
intend  to  live  a  good  while  yet  in  spite  of  them.  Still  — 
there  it  is  —  who  is  to  have  this  money  ■ —  and  these  col- 
lections.'' Sooner  than  let  any  rascally  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  get  at  them,  I  would  leave  them  to  Dixon. 
But  I  confess  I  think  Dixon  would  be  embarrassed  to 
know  what  to  do  with  them.  I  don't  think  I  possess  a 
single  relation  that  I  don't  dislike.  So  now  we  come  to  the 
point.     With  your  leave  —  and  by  your  leave  —  I  pro- 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  277 

pose  to  leave  the  money  and  the  collections  —  to  you!" 
The  young  man  —  flushed  and  staring  —  half  rose  in 
his  chair. 

"To  me?    What  can  you  possibly  mean,  sir?" 

"Precisely  what  I  say.  On  conditions,  of  course.  It 
depends  on  yourself.  But  you  were  brought  into  this 
house  by  a  strange  chance  —  you  happen  to  suit  me  —  to 
interest  me.  *Provvy*  as  Bentham  would  say,  seems 
to  point  to  you.  Here  —  in  this  drawer"  • —  he  brought 
his  hand  down  strongly  on  the  writmg  table  —  "is  a  will 
which  I  wrote  last  night.  It  leaves  the  whole  of  my 
property  to  you,  subject  to  certain  directions  as  to  the 
works  of  art  —  to  a  provision  for  old  Dixon,  and  so  on. 
You  can't  witness  it,  of  coiu-se,  nor  can  Dixon;  otherwise 
it  might  be  signed  to-night.  But  if  we  come  to  an  under- 
standing to-night,  I  can  sign  it  to-morrow  morning  and 
get  a  couple  of  men  from  the  farm  to  witness  it.  I  think 
I  can  promise  to  Hve  so  long!" 

There  was  silence.  With  an  uncertain,  swaying  move- 
ment Melrose  returned  to  his  chair.  The  physical  weak- 
ness betrayed  by  the  action  was  strangely  belied,  however, 
by  his  imperious  aspect,  as  of  an  embodied  Will.  His 
eyes  never  left  Faversham,  even  while  he  rested  heavily 
on  the  table  before  him  for  support. 

Suddenly,  Faversham,  who  had  been  sitting  pale  and 
motionless,  looked  up. 

"Mr.  Melrose  —  have  you  no  natural  heirs.''" 

Melrose  could  not  altogether  disguise  the  shock  of  the 
question.     Pie  threw  himself  back,  however,  with  a  smile. 

"  You  have  been  listening  I  see  to  the  stories  that  people 
tell." 


278  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Faversham  bent  forward  and  spoke  earnestly:  "I 
understand  that  your  wife  and  child  left  you  twenty  years 
ago.     Are  they  still  living?" 

Melrose  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "^^Tiether  they  are 
or  not,  really  matters  nothing  at  all  either  to  you  or  me. 
Mrs.  Melrose  left  this  house  of  her  own  free  will.  That 
ended  the  connection  between  us.  In  any  case,  you  need 
have  no  alarm.  There  is  no  entail  —  even  were  there  a 
son,  and  there  never  was  a  son.  I  do  what  I  will  with  my 
own.  There  is  no  claim  on  me  —  there  would  be  no 
claim  on  you." 

"There  must  be — ^  there  would  be  —  a  moral  claim  I" 

The  colour  rushed  into  Melrose's  face.  He  drummed 
the  table  impatiently. 

"We  will  not,  if  you  please,  argue  the  matter,  which  is 
for  me  a  cliose  jvgee.  And  no  one  who  wishes  to  remain 
a  friend  of  mine" — he  spoke  with  emphasis  — "will  ever 
attempt  to  raise  ghosts  that  are  better  left  in  their  graves. 
I  repeat  —  my  property  is  unencumbered  —  my  power  to 
deal  with  it  absolute.  I  propose  to  make  you  my  heir  — 
on  conditions.  The  first  is  " —  he  looked  sombrely  and 
straight  at  his  companion  — "  that  I  should  not  be 
harassed  or  distressed  by  any  such  references  as  those 
you  have  just  made." 

Faversham  made  no  sound.  His  chin  was  propped  on 
his  hand,  and  his  eyes  pursued  the  intricacies  of  a  silver 
cup  studded  with  precious  stones  which  stood  on  the  table 
beside  him.  He  thought,  "The  next  condition  will  be  — 
the  gems." 

"The  second,"  Melrose  resumed,  after  a  somewhat  long 
pause,  and  with  a  sarcastic  intonation,  "is  that  you  should 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  279 

resist  the  very  natural  temptation  of  exhibiting  me  to  the 
world  as  a  penitent  and  reformed  character.  In  that 
document  you  have  just  read  you  suggest  to  me  —  first, 
that  I  should  retire  from  three  lawsuits  in  which,  what- 
ever other  people  may  think,  I  conceive  that  I  have  a  per- 
fectly good  case;  second" —  he  ticked  the  items  off  on  the 
long  tapering  finger  of  his  left  hand  — "  that  I  should  re- 
build a  score  or  two  of  cottages  it  would  not  pay  me  to 
rebuild  —  in  which  I  force  no  one  to  live  —  and  which  I 
shall  pull  down  when  it  pleases  me,  just  to  teach  a  parcel 
of  busybodies  to  mind  their  own  business;  third  —  that 
I  should  surrender,  hands  down,  to  a  lot  of  trumpery  com- 
plaints and  grievances  got  up  partly  to  spite  a  landlord, 
partly  to  get  money  out  of  him;  and  fourthly  —  with 
regard  to  the  right  of  way  —  that  I  should  let  that  young 
prig  Tatham,  a  lad  just  out  of  the  nursery,  dictate  to  me, 
bring  the  whole  country  about  my  ears,  and  browbeat  me 
out  of  my  rights.  Now  —  I  warn  you  —  I  shall  do  none 
of  these  things!" 

The  speaker  paused  a  moment,  and  then  turned  im- 
petuously on  his  companion, 

"  Have  you  any  reason  so  far  to  complain  of  my  conduct 
toward  you.''" 

"Complain?  You  have  been  only  too  amazingly,  in- 
credibly generous." 

Melrose's  hand  made  a  disdainful  movement. 

"I  did  what  sutited  me.  And  I  told  you,  to  begin  with, 
it  would  not  suit  me  to  run  my  estate  as  though  it  were  a 
University  Settlement.  Handle  me  gently  —  that's  all. 
You've  had  your  way  about  some  of  the  farms  — 
you'll  get  it  no  doubt  with  regard  to  others.     But  don't 


280  THE  MATING  OF  LYDL\ 

go  about  playing  the  reformer  —  on  this  dramatic  scale! 

—  at  my  expense.  I  don't  believe  in  this  modern  wish- 
wash;  and  I  don't  intend  to  don  the  white  sheet." 

He  rose,  and  hghting  another  cigarette,  he  dropped  a 
log  on  the  fire,  and  stood  with  his  back  to  it,  quietly  smok- 
ing. But  his  eyes  were  aU  fierce  fife  under  the  dome  of  his 
forehead,  and  his  hand  shook  a  httle. 

Faversham  sat  absolutely  still.  Rushing  through  his 
veins  was  the  sense  of  something  incredible  and  intoxicat- 
ing. The  word  "million"  rang  in  his  ears.  He  was 
conscious  of  the  years  behind  him  —  their  poverty,  their 
thwarted  ambitions,  their  impotent  discontent.  And  sud- 
denly the  years  before  him  lit  up;  all  was  possible;  all  was 
changed.  Yet  as  he  sat  there  his  pulses  hurrying,  words 
coming  to  his  lips  which  dropped  away  again,  he  became 
conscious  of  two  or  three  extremely  sharp  visualizations. 

A  room  in  one  of  the  Mainstairs  cottages,  containing  a 
bed,  and  on  it  a  paralyzed  girl,  paralyzed  after  diphtheria 

—  the  useless  hands  —  the  vacant,  miserable  look  — 
other  beds  in  the  same  room  filling  it  up  —  the  roof  so  low 
that  it  seemed  to  be  crushing  down  on  the  ghl  —  holes 
in  the  thatch  rudely  mended. 

Again  —  a  corner  in  the  Mainstairs  chm-chyard,  filled 
with  small,  crowded  graves,  barely  grass-gro^vn;  the 
"Innocents'  Corner." 

And  again,  a  ^Tetched  one-roomed  cottage  in  the  same 
row  of  hovels,  kitchen,  bedroom,  and  living-room  in  one, 
mud-floored,  the  outer  door  opening  into  it,  the  bed  at  the 
back,  and  an  old  husband  and  wife,  crippled  with  rheuma- 
tism, sitting  opposite  each  other  on  a  day  of  pouring  rain, 
shivering  in  the  damp  and  the  draughts. 


THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA  281 

Then,  driving  these  out  —  the  face  of  Colonel  Barton 
with  its  blunt,  stupid  kindliness,  and  that  whole  group  at 
Duddon,  welcoming  the  new  man,  believing  in  him,  ready 
to  help  him,  with  the  instinctive  trust  of  honest  folk. 

And  last,  but  flashing  through  all  the  rest,  Lydia's 
eyes  —  the  light  in  them  —  and  the  tones  of  her  voice  — 
"You'll  do  it!— you'll  do  it!  — you'll  set  it  all  right!" 

He  perfectly  reaHzed  at  that  moment  —  before  the  brain 
had  begun  to  refine  on  the  situation  —  what  was  asked  of 
him.  He  was  to  be  Melrose's  tool  and  accomphce  in  all 
that  Melrose's  tyrannical  caprice  chose  to  do  with  the  lives 
of  human  beings;  he  was  to  forfeit  the  respect  of  good 
men;  he  was  to  make  an  enemy  of  Harry  Tatham;  and  he 
was  to  hurt  — •  and  possibly  alienate  —  Lydia. 

And  the  price  of  it  was  a  million. 

He  rose  rather  heavily  to  his  feet,  and  gathered  up  his 
papers  —  a  slim  and  comely  figure  amid  the  queer  medley 
of  the  room. 

'"I  must  have  some  time  to  think  about  what  you  have 
said  to  me,  ]\Ir.  Melrose.     You'^'e  taken  my  breath  away 

—  you  won't  be  surprised  at  that." 
Melrose  smiled  grimly, 

"  Not  at  all.  That's  natural !  Very  well  then  —  we 
meet  to-morrow  morning.  Before  eleven  o'clock  the  will 
must  be  either  signed  —  or  cancelled.     And  for  the  present 

—  please ! —  silence ! " 

They  exchanged  good-nights.  ISIelrose  looked  oddly 
after  the  young  man,  as  the  door  closed. 

"He  took  it  well.  I  suppose  he's  been  sitting  up  nights 
over  that  precious  memorandum.  He  was  to  be  the 
popular  hero,  and  I  the  'shocking  example.'     Well,  he'll 


282  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

get  over  it.  I  think  —  I  have  —  both  him  —  and  the 
Medusa.  And  what  does  the  will  matter  to  me?  Any 
one  may  have  the  gear,  when  I  can't  have  it.  But  I'll 
not  be  dictated  to  —  this  side  of  the  Styx ! " 

Faversham  wandered  out  once  more  into  the  summer 
night.  A  little  path  along  the  cliff  took  him  down  to 
the  riverside,  and  he  paced  beside  the  dimly  shining 
water,  overhung  by  the  black  shadow  of  the  woods. 
When  he  returned  to  the  Tower,  just  as  the  hght  was 
altering,  and  the  chill  of  dawn  beginning,  a  long  process  of 
tumultuous  reflection  had  linked  the  mood  of  the  preced- 
ing evening  to  the  mood  of  this  new  day,  and  of  the  days 
that  were  to  follow.  He  had  determined  on  his  answer  to 
Melrose;  and  he  was  exultantly  sure  of  his  power  to  deal 
with  the  future.  The  scruples  and  terrors  of  the  evening 
were  gone.     His  intelligence  rose  to  his  task. 

This  old  man,  already  ill,  liable  at  any  moment  to  the 
accidents  of  age,  and  still  madly  absorbed,  to  the  full 
extent  of  his  powers  and  his  time,  in  the  pursuits  of  con- 
noisseurship  —  what  could  he  really  do  in  the  way  of 
effective  supervision  of  his  agent?  A  little  tact,  a  little 
prudent  manoeuvring;  some  money  here,  possibly  out  of 
his,  Faversham's,  own  pocket;  judicious  temporizing 
there;  white  lying  when  necessary  —  a  certain  element  of 
intrigue  in  Faversham  rose  to  the  business  with  alacrity. 
In  the  pride  of  his  young  brain  and  his  recovered  strength 
he  did  not  regard  it  as  possible  that  he  should  fail  in  it. 
After  all,  the  law  was  now  squeezing  Melrose;  and  might 
be  gently  and  invisibly  assisted.  If,  as  to  the  will  itself,  his 
lips  were  sealed,  it  would  be  possible  to  give  some  hint 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  283 

to  Lydia,  for  friendship  to  interpret;  to  plead  with  her  for 
patience,  in  view  of  the  powers,  the  beneficent  powers,  that 
must  be  his  —  aye  and  hers  —  the  darhng !  —  some  day. 

The  thought  of  them  was  intoxicating!  A  man  to 
whom  wealth  had  always  appeared  as  the  only  gate  of 
opportunity,  was  now  to  be  rich  beyond  the  utmost  dream 
of  his  ambition.  The  world  lay  at  his  feet.  He  would  use 
it  well;  he  would  do  all  things  honourably.  Ease,  travel, 
a  political  career,  wide  influence,  the  possession  of  beauti- 
ful things  —  in  a  very  short  time  they  would  all  be  in  hi& 
grasp;  for  Melrose  was  near  his  end.  Some  difliculty  first, 
but  not  too  much;  the  struggle  that  leads  to  the  prize! 

As  he  softly  let  himself  in  at  the  side  door  of  the  Tower, 
and  mounted  to  his  new  room,  his  whole  nature  was  like  a 
fiercely  sped  arrow,  aflight  for  its  goal.  Of  what  obstacles 
might  He  between  him  and  his  goal  he  had  ceased  to  take 
account.     Compunctions  had  disappeared. 

Only  —  once  —  as  he  stood  dreamily  looking  round  the 
strange  bedroom  to  which  his  personal  possessions  had 
been  transferred,  an  image  crossed  his  mind  which  was  dis- 
agreeable. It  was  that  of  Nash,  the  shady  solicitor  in 
Pengarth,  Melrose's  factotum  in  many  disreputable  affairs, 
and  his  agent  in  the  ruin  of  the  Brands.  A  little  reptile 
if  ever  there  was  one!  Faversham  had  come  across  the 
creature  a  good  deal  since  his  appointment  as  agent;  and 
was  well  aware  that  he  had  excited  Nash's  jealousy  and 
dislike.  A  man  to  be  guarded  against  no  doubt;  but 
what  could  he  do.^  Faversham  contemptuously  dismissed 
the  thought  of  him. 

A  charming  old  room! — though  the  height  and  the 
dark  tone  of  the  oak  panelling  sucked  all  the  hght  from  his 


284  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

pair  of  candles.  That  would  be  altered  as  soon  as  the 
electric  installation,  for  which  Melrose  had  just  signed  the 
contract,  was  complete.  In  the  centre  of  the  wall  opposite 
the  window,  through  which  a  chiU  dawn  was  just  begin- 
ning to  penetrate,  stood  a  fine  armoire  of  carved  Norman 
work.  Faversham  went  to  look  at  it,  and  vaguely  opened 
one  of  its  drawers. 

There  was  something  at  the  back  of  the  drawer,  a 
picture,  apparently  an  old  photograph,  lying  face  down- 
ward.    He  drew  it  out,  and  looked  at  it. 

He  beheld  a  young  and  rather  pretty  woman,  with 
a  curiously  flat  head,  staring  black  eyes,  and  sharp  chin. 
She  had  a  child  on  her  knee  of  about  a  year  old,  an  elf 
with  dehcately  proud  features,  and  a  frowning,  passionate 
look. 

Wlio  were  they.''  The  photograph  was  stained  with 
age  and  damp;  deep,  too,  in  dust.  From  the  woman's 
dress  it  must  be  a  good  many  years  old. 

The  answer  suggested  itself  at  once.  He  was  now 
inhabiting  Mrs.  Melrose's  room,  which,  according  to  Mrs. 
Dixon,  had  been  closed  for  years,  from  the  date  of  her 
flight.  The  photograph  must  have  been  hers;  the  child 
was  hers  —  and  Melrose's!     The  Ukeness  indeed  cried  out. 

He  replaced  the  photograph,  his  mind  absorbed  in  the 
excitement  of  its  discovery.  Where  were  they  now  — 
the  forlorn  pair.^*  He  had  no  doubt  whatever  that  they 
were  ahve  —  at  the  old  man's  mercy,  somewhere. 

He  let  in  the  dawn,  and  stood  long  in  thought  beside  the 
open  window.  But  in  the  end,  he  satisfied  himself.  He 
would  find  a  way  of  meeting  all  just  claims,  when  the  time 
arrived.     WTiy  not? 


BOOK  III 


XIII 

WHEN  Delorme  left  Duddon,  carrying  with  him 
a  huge  full-length  of  Victoria,  which  must, 
Victoria  felt,  entirely  cut  her  off  from  London 
during  the  ensuing  spring  and  summer  —  for  it  was  to  go 
into  the  Academy,  and  on  no  account  could  she  bear  to 
find  herself  in  the  same  room  with  it  —  he  left  behind 
him  a  cordial  invitation  to  the  "little  painting  girl"  to 
come  and  work  in  his  Somersetshire  studio  —  where  he 
was  feverishly  busy  with  a  great  commission  for  an 
American  to\\'n-hall  for  the  remainder  of  August  and 
September.  Such  invitations  were  extraordinarily  cov- 
eted; and  Lydia,  "advanced"  as  she  was,  should  have 
been  jubilant.  She  accepted  for  her  art's  sake;  but  no 
one  could  have  called  her  jubilant. 

Mrs.  Penfold,  who  for  some  weeks  had  been  in  a  state 
of  nervous  and  rather  irritable  mystification  with  regard 
to  Lydia,  noticed  the  fact  at  once.  She  consulted 
Susy. 

"I  can't  make  her  out!"  said  the  mother  plaintively. 
"Oh,  Susy,  do  you  know  what's  been  going  on.^  Lydia 
has  been  at  Duddon  at  least  six  times  this  last  fortnight  — 
and  Lord  Tatham  has  been  here  —  and  nothing  happens. 
And  all  the  time  Lydia  keeps  teUing  me  she's  not  in  love 
with  him,  and  doesn't  mean  to  marry  him.  But  what's 
he  doing .^" 

287 


288  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Susan  was  looking  dishevelled  and  highly  strung.  She 
had  spent  the  afternoon  in  writing  the  fifth  act  of  a  tragedy 
on  Belisarius;  and  it  was  more  than  a  fortnight  since  Mr. 
Weston,  the  young  vicar  of  Dunscale,  had  been  to  call. 
Her  cheeks  were  sallow;  her  dark  eyes  burnt  behind  their 
thick  lashes. 

"Suppose  he's  done  it.?"  she  said  gloomily. 

Mrs.  Penfold  gave  a  little  shriek. 

"Done  what.''     What  do  you  mean.''" 

"He's  proposed  —  and  she's  said  'No.'  " 

"Lord  Tatham!  Oh,  Susy!"  wailed  Mrs.  Penfold; 
"you  don't  think  that.?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Susan,  with  resolution.  "And  now 
she's  letting  him  down  gently." 

"And  never  said  a  word  to  you  or  me!  Oh,  Susy,  she 
couldn't  be  so  unkind." 

Mrs.  Penfold's  pink  and  whit6  countenance,  on  which 
age  had  as  yet  laid  so  light  a  finger,  showed  the  approach 
of  tears.  She  and  Susy  were  sitting  in  a  leafy  recess  of 
the  garden;  Lydia  had  gone  after  tea  to  see  old  Dobbs 
and  his  daughter. 

"That's  all  this  friendship  business,  she's  so  full  of," 
said  Susy.  "If  she'd  accepted  him,  she'd  have  told  us,  of 
course.  Now  he's  plucked  as  a  lover,  and  readmitted  as 
a  friend.  And  one  doesn't  betray  a  friend's  secrets  — 
even  to  one's  relations.     There  it  is." 

"I  never  heard  such  nonsense,"  cried  Mrs.  Penfold. 
"I  used  to  try  that  kind  of  thing  —  making  friends  with 
young  men.  It  was  no  use  at  all.  They  always  pro- 
posed." 

Susan's  state  of  tension  —  caused  by  the  fact  that  her 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  289 

Fifth  Act  had  been  a  veritable  shambles  —  broke  up  in 
laughter.     She  couldn't  help  kissing  her  mother, 

"You're  priceless,  darling,  you  really  are.  I  wouldn't 
say  anything  to  her  about  it,  if  I  were  you,"  she  added, 
more  seriously.  "I  shall  attack  her,  of  course,  some 
day." 

"But  she  still  goes  on  seeing  him,"  said  Mrs.  Penfold, 
pursuing  her  own  bewildered  thoughts. 

"  That's  her  theory.  She  sees  him  —  they  write  to  each 
other  —  they  probably  call  each  other  '  Lydia'  and 
'Harry.'  " 

"Susy!" 

"Why  not.'  Christian  names  are  very  common  now- 
adays." 

"In  my  youth  if  any  girl  called  a  5'oung  man  by  his 
Christian  name,  it  meant  she  was  engaged  to  him,"  said 
Mrs.  Penfold  with  energy,  her  look  clearing.  "And  if 
they  do  call  each  other  'Lydia'  and  'Harry'  you  may  say 
what  you  like,  Susy,  but  she  will  be  engaged  to  him  some 
day  —  if  not  now,  in  the  winter,  or  some  time." 

"Well,  you  may  be  right.  Anyway,  don't  talk  to  her, 
mother.      Leave  her  alone!" 

Mrs,  Penfold  sighed  deeply. 

"Just  think,  Susy,  what  it  would  be  like"  —  she  dropped 
her  voice  —  "'Countess  Tathani!'  —  can't  you  see  her 
going  to  the  drawing-room  —  with  her  feathers  and  her 
tiara.''  Wouldn't  she  be  lovely  —  wouldn't  she  have 
the  world  at  her  feet?  Think  what  your  father  would 
have  said." 

"I  don't  believe  those  things  ever  enter  Lydia's  mind!" 

Mrs.  Penfold  slowly  shook  her  head. 


290  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"It  isn't  human,"  she  said  plaintively,  "it  really 
isn't."  And  in  a  mournful  silence  she  returned  to  her 
embroidery. 

Susan  invaded  her  sister's  bedroom  late  that  night, 
and  found  Lydia  before  her  looking-glass  enveloped  in 
shimmering  clouds  of  hair.  The  younger  sister  sat  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed  with  her  arms  folded. 

"Why  are  you  so  slack  about  this  Delorme  plan,  Lydia? 
I  don't  believe  you  want  to  go," 

Lydia  turned  with  a  start. 

"But  of  course  I  want  to  go!  It's  the  greatest  chance. 
I  shall  learn  a  heap  of  things." 

Susan  nodded. 

"All  the  same  you  don't  seem  a  bit  keen." 

Lydia  fidgeted. 

"Well,  you  see,  I  admire  Mr.  Delorme's  work  as  much 
as  ever.     But " 

"You  don't  hke  Mr.  Delorme.^  The  greatest  egotist  I 
ever  saw,"  said  the  uncompromising  Susan,  who,  as  a 
dramatist,  prided  herself  on  a  knowledge  of  character. 

"Ah,  but  a  grea,t,  great  painter!"  cried  Lydia.  "Don't 
dissuade  me,  Susan.     Professionally  —  I  must  do  it!" 

"It's  not  because  Mr.  Delorme  is  an  egotist,  that  you 
don't  want  to  go  away,"  said  Susan,  quietly.  "It's  for 
quite  a  different  reason." 

"What  do  you  mean.'^" 

"It's  because  —  no,  I  don't  mind  if  I  do  make  you 
angry!  —  it's  because  you're  so  desperately  interested  in 
Mr.  Faversham." 

"Really,  Susan!"     The  cloud  of  hair  was  thrown  back, 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  291 

and  Lydia's  face  emerged,  the  clear,  indignant  eyes  shining 
in  the  candleHght. 

"Ob,  I  don't  mean  that  you're  in  love  with  him  — 
wish  you  were!  But  you're  roping  him  in  —  just  Hke 
Lord  Tatham.  And  as  he's  the  latest,  he's  the  most  — 
well,  exciting!" 

Susan  with  her  chin  in  her  hands,  and  her  dusky  coun- 
tenance very  much  alive,  seemed  to  be  playing  her  sister 
with  cautious  mockery  —  feeling  her  way. 

"Dear  Susy  —  I  don't  know  why  you're  so  unkind  — 
and  unjust,"  said  Lydia,  after  a  moment,  in  the  tone  of 
one  wounded. 

"How  am  I  unkind.^  You're  the  practical  one  of  us 
three.  You  run  us  and  take  care  of  us.  We  know  we're 
stupids  compared  to  you.  But  really  mamma  and  I 
stand  aghast  at  the  way  in  which  you  manage  your  love 
affairs!" 

"My  love  affairs!"  cried  Lydia,  "but  I  haven't  got 
any!" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Lord  Tatham  is  not  in  love 
with  you.?"  said  Susan  severely  —  "that  he  wouldn't 
marry  you  to-morrow  if  you'd  let  him?" 

Lydia  flushed,  but  her  look  was  neither  resentful  nor 
repentant. 

"  Why  should  we  put  it  in  that  way .?* "  she  said,  ardently. 
"  Isn't  it  possible  to  look  at  men  in  some  other  light  than 
as  possible  husbands?  Haven't  they  got  hearts  and 
minds  —  don't  they  think  and  feel  —  just  like  us?" 

"Oh,  no,  not  like  us,"  said  Susan  hastily  —  "never." 

Lydia  smiled. 

"Well,  enough  like  us,  anyway.     Do  you  ever  think. 


292  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Susy!"  she  seized  her  sister's  wrist  and  looked  her  in  the 
eyes —  "that  there  are  a  million  more  women  than  men 
in  this  country?  It  is  evident  we  can't  all  be  married. 
Well,  then,  I  withdraw  from  the  competition!  It's  de- 
moralizing to  women;  and  it's  worse  for  men.  But  I 
don't  intend  to  confine  myself  to  women  friends." 

"They  bore  you,"  said  Susy  sharply;  "confess  it  at 
once!" 

"How  unkind  of  you!"  Lydia's  protest  was  almost 
tearful.  "You  know  I  have  at  least  four"  —  she  recalled 
their  names  —  "who  love  me,  and  I  them.  But  neither 
men  nor  women  should  live  in  a  world  apart.  They 
complete  each  other." 
•  "Yes  —  in  marriage,"  said  Susan. 

"No!  —  in  a  thousand  other  ways  —  we  hardly  dream 
of  yet.  Not  marriage  only  —  but  comradeship  —  help  — 
in  all  the  great  —  impersonal  —  delightful  things!" 

"You  look  like  a  prophetess,"  said  Susan,  appraising  her 
sister's  kindled  beauty,  with  an  artistic  eye;  "but  I  should 
like  to  know  what  Lady  Tatham  has  to  say!" 

Lydia  was  silent,  her  lip  quivering  a  little. 

"And  I  warn  you,"  Susan  continued,  greatly  daring, 
"that  Faversham  won't  let  you  do  what  you  like  with 
him!" 

Lydia  rose  slowly,  gathered  up  her  golden  veil  into  one 
big  knot  without  speaking,  and  went  on  with  her  prepara- 
tions for  bed. 

Susy  too  uncoiled  her  small  figure  and  stood  up. 

"I've  told  mamma  not  to  bother  you,"  she  said 
abruptly. 

Lydia  threw  an  arm  round  her  tormentor. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  293 

"  Dear  Sue,  I  don't  want  to  scold,  but  if  you  only  knew 
how  you  spoil  things!" 

Susy's  eyes  twinkled.  She  let  Lydia  kiss  her,  and  then 
walking  very  slowly  to  the  door,  so  as  not  to  have  an 
appearance  of  being  put  to  flight,  she  disappeared. 

Lydia  was  left  to  think  —  and  think  —  her  eyes  on  the 
ground.  Never  had  life  run  so  warmly  and  richly;  she 
was  amply  conscious  of  it.  And  what,  pray,  in  spite  of 
Susy's  teasing,  had  love  to  say  to  it,''  Passion  was  ruled 
out  —  she  held  the  senses  in  leash,  submissive.  Harry 
Tatham,  indeed,  was  now  writing  to  her  every  day;  and 
she  to  him,  less  often.  Faversham,  too,  was  writing  to 
her,  coming  to  consult  her;  and  all  that  a  woman's  sym- 
pathy', all  that  mind  and  spirit  could  do  to  help  him  in  his 
heavy  and  solitary  task  she  would  do.  Toward  Tatham 
she  felt  with  a  tender  sisterliness;  anxious  often;  yet  con- 
fident in  herself,  and  in  the  issue.  In  Faversham's  case,  it 
was  rather  a  keen,  a  romantic  curiosity,  to  see  how  a  man 
would  quit  himself  in  a  great  ordeal  suddenly  thrust  upon 
him;  and  a  girlish  pride  that  he  should  turn  to  her  for  help. 

His  first  note  to  her  lay  there  —  inside  her  sketch  book. 
It  had  reached  her  the  morning  after  his  interview  with 
Mr.  Melrose. 

'T  didn't  find  Mr.  Melrose  in  a  yielding  mood  last  night. 
I  beg  of  you  don't  expect  too  much.  Please,  please  be 
patient,  and  remember  that  if  I  can  do  as  yet  but  little,  I 
honestly  believe  nobody  else  could  do  anything.  We 
must  wait  and  watch  —  here  a  step,  and  there  a  step. 
But  I  think  I  may  ask  you  to  trust  me;  and,  if  you  can, 
suggest  to  others  to  do  the  same.  How  much  your 
sympathy  helps  me  I  cannot  express." 


394  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Of  course  she  would  be  patient.  But  she  was  trium- 
phantly certain  of  him  —  and  his  power.  What  Susy  said 
to  her  unwillingness  to  go  south  was  partly  true.  She 
would  have  liked  to  stay  and  watch  the  progress  of  things 
on  the  Melrose  estates;  to  be  at  hand  if  Mr.  Faversham 
wanted  her.  She  thought  of  Mainstairs  —  that  dying 
girl  —  the  sickly  children  —  the  helpless  old  people.  In- 
dignant pity  gripped  her.  That  surely  would  be  the  first 
—  the  very  first  step;  a  mere  question  of  weeks  —  or 
days.  It  was  so  simple,  so  obvious!  Mr.  Melrose  would 
be  shamed  into  action!  Mr.  Faversham  could  not  fail 
there. 

But  she  must  go.  She  had  her  profession;  and  she 
must  earn  money. 

Also  —  the  admission  caused  her  discomfort  —  the 
sooner  she  went,  the  sooner  would  it  be  possible  for  Lady 
Tatham  to  induce  her  son  to  migrate  to  the  Scotch  moor 
where,  as  a  rule,  she  and  he  were  always  to  be  found 
settled  by  the  first  days  of  August.  It  was  evident  that 
she  was  anxious  to  be  gone.  Lydia  confessed  it,  sorely, 
to  herself.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  been  spending 
some  weeks  in  trying  hard  to  make  friends  with  Lady 
Tatham;  and  she  had  not  succeeded. 

"Why  won't  she  talk  to  me!"  she  thought;  "and  I 
daren't  —  to  her.  It  would  be  so  easy  to  understand 
each  other!" 

Three  days  later.  Green  Cottage  was  in  the  occupation 
of  a  Manchester  solicitor,  who  was  paying  a  rent  for  it, 
which  put  Mrs.  Penfold  in  high  spirits;  especially  when 
coupled  with  the  astonishing  fact  that  Lydia  had  sold  all 
her  three  drawings  which  had  been  sent  to  a  London 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  295 

exhibition  —  also,  apparently,  to  a  solicitor.  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold  expressed  her  surprise  to  her  daughter  that  the 
practice  of  the  law  should  lead  both  to  a  love  of  scenery 
and  the  patronage  of  the  arts;  she  had  been  brought  up 
to  think  of  it  as  a  deadening  profession. 

Lydia  had  gone  south;  Mrs.  Penfold  and  Susy  were 
paying  visits  to  relations;  and  Duddon  was  closed  till  the 
end  of  September.  It  was  known  that  Mr.  Melrose  had 
gone  off  on  one  of  his  curio-hunting  tours;  and  the  new 
agent  ruled.  A  whole  countryside,  or  what  was  left  of  it 
in  August,  settled  down  to  watch. 

High  on  the  moors  of  Ross-shire,  Lady  Tatham  too 
watched.  The  lodge  filled  up  with  guests,  and  one  charm- 
ing girl  succeeded  another,  by  Victoria's  careful  contriv- 
ance. None  of  your  painted  and  powdered  campaigners 
with  minds  torn  between  the  desire  to  "best"  a  rival,  and 
the  terror  of  their  dressmakers'  bills;  but  the  freshest, 
sweetest,  best-bred  young  women  she  could  discover 
among  the  daughters  of  her  friends.  Tatham  was  de- 
lightful with  them  all,  patiently  played  golf  with  them, 
taught  them  to  fish,  and  tramped  with  them  over  the 
moors.  And  when  they  said  good-bye,  and  the  motor 
took  them  to  the  station,  Victoria  believed  that  he 
remembered  them  just  about  as  much,  or  as  little,  as  the 
"bag"  of  the  last  shoot. 

Her  own  feeling  was  curiously  mixed.  There  were 
many  days  when  she  would  have  liked  to  beat  Lydia 
Penfold,  and  at  all  times  her  pride  lay  wounded,  bitterly 
wounded,  at  the  girl's  soft  hands.  When  Harry  had  first 
confided  in  her,  she  had  been  certain  that  no  nice  girl 


296  THE  jVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

could  long  resist  him,  if  only  she,  Harry's  mother,  gave 
opportunities  and  held  the  lists.  It  would  not  be  neces- 
sary for  her  to  take  any  active  steps.  Mere  propinquity 
would  do  it.  Then,  when  Tatham  stumbled  prematurely 
into  his  proposal,  ^"ictoria  might  have  intervened  to  help, 
but  for  Lydia's  handling  of  the  situation.  She  had 
refused  the  natural  place  offered  her  in  Harry's  life  —  the 
place  of  lover  and  wife.  But  she  had  claimed  and  was 
now  holding  a  place  only  less  intimate,  only  less  impor- 
tant; and  Victoria  felt  herself  disarmed  and  powerless. 
To  try  and  separate  them  was  to  deal  a  blow  at  her  son 
of  which  she  was  incapable;  and  at  the  same  time  there 
was  the  gnawing  anxiety  lest  their  absurd  "friendship" 
should  stand  in  the  way  of  her  boy's  marriage  —  should 
^'cjueer  the  pitch"  for  the  future. 

Meanwhile,  day  by  day,  Tatham's  letters  travelled 
south  to  Lydia,  and  twice  a  week  or  thereabout,  letters 
addressed  in  a  clear  and  beautiful  handwriting  arrived 
by  an  evening  post  from  the  south.  And  gradually 
Victoria  became  aware  of  new  forces  and  new  growths 
in  her  son.  "What  does  she  write  to  you  about.'*"  she 
had  said  to  him  once,  with  her  half-sarcastic  smile.  And 
after  a  little  hesitation  —  silently,  Tatham  had  handed 
over  to  her  the  letter  of  the  afternoon.  "I'd  like  you  to 
see  it,"  he  had  said  simply.  "She  makes  one  think  a 
lot." 

And,  indeed,  it  was  a  remarkable  letter,  full  of  poetry 
but  also  full  of  fun.  The  humours  of  Delorme's  studio  — 
a  play  she  had  seen  in  London  —  a  book  she  had  read  — 
the  characteristics  of  a  Somersetshire  village  —  the  eager 
pen  ran  on  without  effort,  without  pretence.     But  it  was 


THE  ]VL\TING  OF  LYDIA  297 

the  pen  of  youth,  of  feeling,  of  romance;  and  it  revealed 
the  dehcate  heart  and  mind  of  a  woman.  There  was  a 
liberal  education  in  it;  and  Victoria  watched  the  process 
at  work,  sometimes  with  jealousy, sometimes  with  emotion. 
After  all,  might  it  not  be  a  mere  stage  —  and  a  useful 
one.  She  reserved  her  judgment,  waiting  for  the  time 
when  these  two  should  meet  again,  face  to  face. 

September  was  more  than  halfway  through,  when  one 
morning  Tatham  tossed  a  letter  to  his  mother  across  the 
breakfast  table  with  the  remark: 

"I  say,  mother,  the  new  broom  doesn't  seem  to  be 
sweeping  very  well!" 

The  letter  was  from  Undershaw.  Tatham  —  in  whom 
the  rural  reformer  was  steadily  developing  —  kept  up  a 
fairly  regular  correspondence  with  the  active  young 
doctor,  on  medical  and  sanitary  matters,  connected  with 
his  own  estate  and  the  county. 

"Matters  are  going  rather  oddly  in  this  neighbourhood. 
I  must  say  I  can't  make  Faversham  out.  You  remember 
what  an  excellent  beginning  he  seemed  to  make  a  couple 
of  months  ago.  Colonel  Barton  told  me  that  he  had 
every  hope  of  him;  he  was  evidently  most  anxious  to 
purge  some  at  least  of  Mr.  Melrose's  misdeeds;  seemed 
businesslike,  conciliatory,  etc.  Well,  I  assure  you,  he 
has  done  almost  nothing!  It  is  not  really  a  question 
of  giving  him  time.  There  were  certain  scandalous 
things,  years  old,  that  he  ought  to  have  put  right  at  once 
—  on  the  nail  —  or  thrown  up  his  post.  The  Mainstairs 
cottages  for  instance.  We  are  in  for  another  diphtheria 
epidemic  there.  The  conditions  are  simply  horrible. 
Melrose,  as  before,  will  do  nothing,  and  defies  anybody 


298  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

else  to  do  anything;  says  he  has  given  the  tenants  notice 
that  he  intends  to  pull  the  cottages  down,  and  the  people 
stay  in  them  at  their  own  peril.  The  local  authority  can 
do  nothing;  the  people  say  they  have  nowhere  to  go,  and 
cling  like  limpets  to  the  rock.  Melrose  could  put  those 
sixteen  cottages  in  order  for  a  couple  of  thousand  pounds, 
which  would  be  about  as  much  to  him  as  half-a-crown  to 
me.  It  is  all  insane  pride  and  obstinacy  —  he  won't  be 
dictated  to  —  and  the  rest,  I  shall  be  a  land-nationalizer 
if  I  hear  much  more  of  Melrose. 

"Meanwhile,  Faversham  will  soon  come  in  for  his 
master's  hideous  unpopularity,  if  he  can't  manage  him 
better.  He  is  looking  white  and  harassed,  and  seems  to 
avoid  persons  like  myself  who  might  attack  him.  But  I 
gather  that  he  has  been  trying  to  come  round  Melrose  by 
attempting  some  reforms  behind  his  back,  and  probably 
with  his  o^ai  money.  Something,  for  instance,  was  begun 
at  Mainstairs,  while  Melrose  was  away  in  Holland,  after 
the  fresh  diphtheria  cases  broke  out.  There  was  an 
attempt  made  to  get  at  the  pollutions  infecting  the 
water  supply,  and  repairs  were  begun  on  the  worst 
cottage. 

"But  in  the  middle  Melrose  came  home,  and  was,  I 
believe,  immediately  informed  of  what  was  going  on  by 
that  low  scoundrel  Nash  who  used  to  be  his  factotum,  and 
has  shown  great  jealousy  of  Faversham  since  his  appoint- 
ment. What  happened  exactly  I  can't  say,  but  from 
something  old  Dixon  said  to  me  the  other  day  —  I  have 
been  attending  him  for  rheumatism  —  I  imagine  there 
was  a  big  row  between  the  two  men.  Why  Faversham 
didn't  throw  up  there  and  then,  I  can't  understand.  How- 
ever there  he  is  still,  immersed  they  tell  me  in  the  busi- 
ness of  the  estate,  but  incessantly  watched  and  hampered 
by  Melrose  himself,  an  extraordinary  development  in  so 
short  a  time;  and  able,  apparently,  even  if  he  is  willing, 
which  I  assume  —  to  do  little  or  nothing  to  meet  the 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  299 

worst  complaints  of  the  tenants.  They  are  beginning  to 
turn  against  him  furiously. 

"Last  week  the  sight  of  Mainstairs  and  the  horrible 
suffering  there  got  on  my  nerves.  I  sat  down  and  wrote  to 
Melrose  peremptorily  demanding  a  proper  supply  of  anti- 
toxin at  once,  at  his  expense.  A  post-card  from  him 
arrived,  refusing,  and  bidding  me  apply  to  a  Socialist 
government.  That  night,  however,  on  arriving  at  my 
surgery,  I  found  a  splendid  supply  of  antitoxin,  labelled 
'for  Mainstairs,'  without  another  word.  I  have  reason 
to  think  Faversham  had  been  in  Carlisle  himself  that 
day  to  get  it;  he  must  have  cleared  out  the  place. 

"Next  day  I  saw  him  in  the  village.  He  specially 
haunts  a  cottage  where  there  is  a  poor  girl  of  eighteen, 
paralyzed  after  an  attack  of  diphtheria  last  year,  and  not,  I 
think,  long  for  this  world.  The  new  epidemic  has  now 
attacked  her  younger  sister,  a  pretty  child  of  eight.  I 
doubt  whether  we  shall  save  her.  Miss  Penfold  has 
always  been  very  kind  in  coming  to  visit  them.  She  will 
be  dreadfully  sorry. 

"Faversham,  I  believe,  has  tried  to  move  the  whole 
family.  But  where  are  they  to  go?  The  grandfather  is  a 
shepherd  on  a  farm  near  —  too  old  for  a  new  place.  There 
isn't  a  vacant  cottage  in  the  whole  neighbourhood  —  as 
you  know;  and  scores  that  ought  to  be  built. 

"As  to  the  right-of-way  business,  Melrose's  fences  are 
all  up  again,  his  rascally  lawyers,  Nash  at  the  head,  are 
as  busy  as  bees  trumping  up  his  case;  and  I  can  only 
suppose  that  he  has  been  forcing  Faversham  to  write  the 
unscrupulous  letters  about  it  that  have  been  appearing  in 
some  of  the  papers, 

"What  makes  it  all  rather  gruesome  is  that  there  are 
the  most  persistent  rumours  that  the  young  man  has  been 
adopted  by  Melrose,  and  will  probably  be  his  heir.  I 
can't  give  you  any  proofs,  but  I  am  certain  that  all  the 
people  about  the  Tower  believe  it.     If  so,  he  will  no  doubt 


300  THE  JVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

be  well  paid  for  his  soul!  But  sell  it  he  must,  or  go.  I 
have  no  doubt  he  thought  he  could  manage  Melrose. 
Poor  devil! 

"The  whole  thing  makes  me  very  sick  —  I  liked  him  so 
much  while  he  was  my  patient.  And  I  expect  you  and 
Lady  Tatham  will  be  pretty  disappointed  too." 

Victoria  returned  the  letter  to  her  son,  pointing  to  the 
last  sentence. 

"  It  depends  on  what  you  expected.  I  never  took  to  the 
young  man." 

"WTiy  doesn't  he  insist  —  or  go!"  cried  Tatham. 
"Apparently  Melrose  has  bought  him." 
"I  say,  don't  let's  believe  that  till  we  know!" 
When  his  mother  left  him,  Tatham  took  his  way  to  the 
moor,  and  spent  an  uncomfortable  hour  in  rumination. 
Lydia  had  spoken  of  Faversham  once  or  twice  in  her  early 
letters  from  the  south;  but  lately  there  had  been  no  refer- 
ences to  him  at  all.     Was  she  disappointed  —  or  too  much 
interested?  —  too  deeply  involved?     A  vague  but  gnaw- 
ing jealousy  was  fastening  on  Tatham  day  by  day;  and 
he  had  not  been  able  to  coneal  it  from  his  mother.     Lydia 
was  free  —  of  course  she  was  free !     But  friends  have  their 
right  too.     "If  she  is  really  going  that  way,  I  ought  to 
know,"  thought  poor  Tatham. 

Meanwhile  Lydia  herself  would  have  been  hard  put  to  it 
to  say  whither  she  was  going.  But  that  moral  and  intel- 
lectual landscape  which  had  lain  so  clear  before  her  when 
she  left  Green  Cottage  was  certainly  beginning  to  blur; 
the  mists  were  descending  upon  it. 

She  spent  the  August  and  September  days  working 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  301 

feverishly  hard  in  Delorme's  studio,  and  her  evenings  in  a 
pleasant  society  of  young  artists,  of  both  sexes,  all  gathered 
at  the  feet  of  the  great  man.  But  her  mind  was  often  far 
away;  and  rational  theories  as  to  the  true  relations  be- 
tween men  and  women  were  neither  so  clear  nor  so  sup- 
porting as  they  had  been. 

She  had  now  two  intimate  men  friends;  two  ardent  and 
devoted  correspondents.  Scarcely  a  day  passed  that  she 
was  not  in  touch  with  both  of  them.  Her  knowledge  of 
the  male  temperament  and  male  ways  of  looking  at 
things  was  increasing  fast.  So  far  she  had  her  desire. 
And  in  her  correspondence  with  the  two  men,  she  had 
amply  "played  up."  She  had  given  herself — her  thoughts, 
feelings,  imaginations  —  to  both;  in  different  ways,  and 
different  degrees. 

And  what  was  happening.^  Simply  a  natural,  irresist- 
ible discrimination,  which  was  like  the  slow  inflooding  of 
the  tide  through  the  river  mouth  it  forces.  Tatham's 
letters  were  all  pleasure.  Not  a  word  of  wooing  in  them. 
He  had  given  his  word,  and  he  kept  it.  But  the  unveiling 
of  a  character  so  simple,  strong,  and  honest,  to  the  eyes  of 
this  girl  of  four-and-twenty,  conveyed  of  itself  a  tribute 
that  could  not  but  rouse  both  gratitude  and  affection  in 
Lydia.  Shd  did  her  best  to  reward  him;  and  so  far  her 
"ideas"  had  worked. 

Faversham's  letters,  on  the  other  hand,  from  the  govern- 
ing event  of  the  day,  had  now  become  a  pain  and  a  dis- 
tress. The  exultant  and  exuberant  self-confidence  of  the 
earlier  correspondence,  the  practical  dreams  on  paper 
which  had  stirred  her  enthusiasm  and  delight  —  they 
came,  it  seemed  to  her,  to  a  sudden  and  jarring  end,  some- 


302  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

where  about  the  opening  of  September.  The  change  was 
e^ddently  connected  with  the  return  of  Mr.  Melrose 
from  abroad  just  at  that  time.  The  letters  grew  rambling, 
evasive,  contradictory.  Doubt  and  bitterness  began  to 
appear  in  them.  She  asked  for  facts  about  his  work,  and 
they  were  not  given  her.  Instead  the  figure  of  Melrose 
rose  on  the  horizon,  till  he  dominated  the  correspondence, 
a  harsh  .Mid  fantastic  task-master,  to  whose  will  and 
consctence  it  was  useless  to  appeal. 

When  two  months  of  this  double  correspondence  had 
gone  by,  and  in  the  absence  of  I.ydia's  usual  friends  and 
correspondents  from  the  Pengarth  neighbourhood,  no 
other  information  from  the  north  had  arrived  to  supple- 
ment Faversham's  letters,  Susy,  who  was  in  the  Tyrol 
with  a  friend,  might  have  drawn  ample  "copy,"  from  her 
sister's  condition,  had  she  witnessed  it.  Lydia  was  most 
clearly  unhappy.  She  was  desperately  interested,  and 
full  of  pity;  yet  apparently  powerless  to  help.  There 
was  a  tug  at  her  heart,  a  grip  on  her  thoughts,  which 
increased  perpetually.  Faversham  wrote  to  her  often 
like  a  guilty  man;  why,  she  could  not  imagine.  The 
appeal  of  his  letters  to  her  had  begun  to  shake  her  nerves, 
to  haunt  her  nights.  She  longed  for  the  October  day 
when  Green  Cottage  would  be  free  from  its  tenants,  and 
she  once  more  on  the  spot. 

With  the  second  week  of  October,  Lady  Tatham 
returned  to  Duddon.  Tatham  would  have  been  with  her, 
but  that  he  was  detained,  grumbling,  by  a  political 
demonstration  at  Newcastle.  Never  had  he  felt  political 
speech-making  so  tedious.     But  for  a  foolish  promise  to 


THE  :MATING  of  LYDIA  303 

talk  drivel  to  a  crowd  of  people  who  knew  even  less  about 
the  subject  than  he,  he  might  have  been  spending  the 
evening  with  Lydia.  For  the  strangers  in  Green  Cottage 
had  departed,  and  Lydia  was  again  within  his  reach. 

The  return  to  Duddon  after  an  absence  had  never  lost 
its  freshness  for  Victoria.  Woman  of  fifty  as  she  was,  she 
was  still  a  bundle  of  passions,  in  the  intellectual  and 
poetic  sense.  The  sight  of  her  own  fells  and  streams,  the 
sound  of  the  Cumbrian  "aa's,"  and  "oo's,"  the  scurrying 
of  the  sheep  among  the  fern,  the  breath  of  the  wind  in  the 
Glendarra  woods,  the  scent  of  moss  and  heather  —  these 
things  filled  her  with  just  the  same  thrills  and  gushes  of 
delight  as  in  her  youth.  Such  thrills  and  gushes  were 
for  her  own  use  only;  she  never  offered  them  for  inspection 
by  other  people. 

She  had  no  sooner  looked  at  her  letters,  and  chatted 
with  her  housekeeper,  on  the  day  of  her  return,  than 
clothed  in  her  oldest  gown  and  thickest  shoes,  she  went 
out  wandering  by  herself  through  the  October  dusk; 
ravished  by  the  colour  in  which  autumn  had  been  wrap- 
ping the  Cumbrian  earth  since  she  had  beheld  it  last;  the 
purples  and  golds  and  amethysts,  the  touches  of  emerald 
green,  the  fringes  of  blue  and  purple  mist;  by  the  familiar 
music  of  the  streams,  which  is  not  as  the  Scotch  music; 
and  the  scents  of  the  hills,  which  are  not  as  the  scents  of 
the  Highlands.  Yet  all  the  time  she  was  thinking  of 
Harry  and  Lydia  Penfold;  trying  to  plan  the  winter,  and 
what  she  was  to  do. 

It  was  dark,  with  a  rising  moon  when  she  got  back  to 
Duddon.  The  butler,  an  old  servant,  was  watching  for  her 
in  the  hall.     She  noticed  disturbance  in  his  manner. 


304  THE  ^lATING  OF  LYDIA 

"There  are  two  ladies,  my  lady,  in  the  drawing-room." 

"Two  ladies!  —  Hurst!"  The  tone  was  reproachful. 
Victoria  did  not  always  suffer  her  neighbours  gladly,  and 
Hurst  knew  her  ways.  The  first  evening  at  home  v.as 
sacred. 

"I  could  not  help  it,  my  lady.  I  told  them  you  were 
out,  and  might  not  be  in  till  dark.  They  said  they  must 
see  you  —  they  had  come  from  Italy  —  and  it  was  most 
important." 

"From  Italy!"  repeated  Victoria,  wondering  —  "who 
on  earth Did  they  give  their  name?" 

"No,  my  lady,  they  said  you'd  know  them  quite  well." 

Victoria  hurried  on  to  the  drawing-room.  Two  figures 
rose  as  she  entered  the  room,  which  was  only  lit  by  the 
firelight;  and  then  stood  motionless. 

Victoria  advanced  bewildered. 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  me  your  names.?" 

"Don't  you  remember  me,  Lady  Tatham.?*"  said  a  low, 
excited  voice. 

Victoria  turned  on  an  electric  switch  close  to  her  hand, 
and  the  room  was  suddenly  in  a  blaze  of  light.  She 
looked  in  scrutinizing  astonishment  at  the  figure  in  dingy 
black,  standing  before  her,  and  at  a  girl,  looking  about 
sixteen  —  deathly  pale  —  who  seemed  to  be  leaning  on  a 
chair  in  the  background. 

That  strange,  triangular  face,  with  the  sharp  chin,  and 
the  abnormal  eyes  —  where,  in  what  dim  past,  had  she 
seen  it  before?  For  some  seconds  memory  wrestled. 
Then,  old  and  new  came  together;  and  she  recognized  her 
\'isitor. 

"Mrs.  Melrose!"  she  said,  in  incredulous  amazement. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  305 

The  woman  in  black  came  nearer,  and  spoke  brokenly  — 
the  bitter  emotion  beneath  gradually  forcing  its  way. 

'T  am  in  great  distress  —  I  don't  know  what  to  do. 
My  daughter  and  I  are  starving  —  and  I  remembered 
you'd  came  to  see  me  —  that  once  —  at  Threlfall.  I 
knew  all  about  you.  I've  asked  English  people  often.  I 
thought  perhaps  you'd  help  me  —  you'd  tell  me  how  to 
make  my  husband  do  something  for  me  —  for  me  —  and 
for  his  daughter!  Look  at  her"  —  Netta  paused  and 
pointed  —  "  she's  ill  —  she's  dropping.  We  had  to  hurry 
through  from  Lucca.  We  couldn't  afford  to  stop  on  the 
way.  We  sold  everything  we  had;  some  people  collected 
a  hundred  francs  for  us;  and  we  just  managed  to  buy  our 
tickets.  Felicia  didn't  want  to  come,  but  I  made  her.  I 
couldn't  see  her  die  before  my  eyes.  We've  starved  for 
months.  We've  parted  with  everything,  and  I've  written 
to  Mr.  Melrose  again  and  again.  He's  never  answered  — 
till  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  he  said  if  we  troubled  him  again 
he'd  stop  the  money.     He's  a  bad,  bad  man." 

Shaking,  her  teeth  chattering,  her  hands  clenched  at 
her  side,  the  forlorn  creature  stared  at  Victoria.  She  was 
not  old,  but  she  was  a  wreck;  a  withered,  emaciated  wreck 
of  the  woman  Victoria  had  once  seen  twenty  years  before. 

Victoria,  laying  a  gentle  hand  upon  her,  drew  an 
armchair  forward. 

"Sit  down,  please,  and  rest.  You  shall  have  food 
directly.  I  will  have  rooms  got  ready.  And  this  is  your 
daughter.'^" 

She  went  up  to  the  girl  who  stood  shivering  like  her 
mother,  and  speechless.  But  her  proud  black  eyes  met 
Victoria's  with  a  passion  in  them  that  seemed  to  resent 


306  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

a  touch,  a  look.  "She  ought  to  be  lovely!"  thought 
Victoria;  "she  is  —  if  one  could  feed  and  dress  her." 

"You  poor  child!     Come  and  lie  down." 

She  took  hold  of  the  girl  and  guided  her  to  a  sofa. 
When  they  reached  it,  the  little  creature  fell  half  fainting 
upon  it.  But  she  controlled  herself  by  an  astonishing 
effort,  thanked  Victoria  in  Italian,  and  curling  herself  up 
in  a  corner  she  closed  her  eyes.  The  white  profile  on  the 
dark  sofa  cushion  was  of  a  most  delicate  perfection,  and 
as  Victoria  helped  to  remove  her  hat  she  saw  a  small 
dark  head  covered  with  short  curls  like  a  boy's. 

Netta  Melrose  looked  round  the  beautiful  room,  its 
pictures,  its  deep  sofas  and  chairs,  its  bright  fire,  and  then 
at  the  figures  of  Victoria  and  the  housekeeper  in  the 
distance.  Victoria  was  giving  her  orders.  The  tears 
were  on  Netta's  cheeks.  Yet  she  had  the  vague,  ineffable 
feeling  of  one  just  drawn  from  the  waves.  She  had  done 
right.     She  had  saved  herself  and  Felicia. 

Food  was  brought,  and  wine.  They  were  coaxed  to  eat, 
warmed  and  comforted.  Then  Victoria  took  them  up 
through  the  broad,  scented  passages  of  the  beautiful 
house  to  rooms  that  had  been  got  ready  for  them. 

"Don't  talk  any  more  to-night.  You  shall  tell  me 
everything  to-morrow.  My  maid  will  help  you.  I  will 
come  back  presently  to  see  you  have  everything  you 
want." 

Felicia,  frowning,  wished  to  unpack  their  small  hand- 
bag, with  its  shabby  contents,  for  herself.  But  she  was 
too  feeble,  and  the  maid,  in  spite  of  what  seemed  to  the 
two  forlorn  ones  her  fine  clothes  and  fine  ways,  was  kind 
and  tactful.     Victoria's  wardrobe  was  soon  laid  under 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  307 

contribution;  beautiful  linen,  and  soft  silken  things  she 
possessed  but  seldom  wore,  were  brought  out  for  lier 
destitute  guests. 

Victoria  came  in  to  say  good-night.  Netta  looked  at 
the  stately  woman,  the  hair  just  beginning  to  be  gray,  the 
strong  face  with  its  story  of  fastidious  thought,  of  refined 
and  sheltered  living. 

"You're  awfully  good  to  us.     It's  twenty  years! " 

Her  voice  failed  her. 

"  Twenty  years  —  yes,  indeed !  since  I  drove  over  to  see 
you  that  time!  Your  daughter  was  a  little  toddling 
thing." 

"  We've  had  such  a  life  —  these  last  few  years  —  oh, 
such  an  awful  life !  My  old  father's  still  alive  —  but 
would  be  better  if  he  were  dead.  My  mother  depended 
on  us  entirely  —  she's  dead.  But  I'll  explain  everything 
—  everything." 

It  was  clear,  however,  that  till  sleep  had  knit  up  the 
ravelled  nerves  of  the  poor  lady,  no  coherent  conversation 
was  possible.     Victoria  hastened  to  depart. 

"To-morrow  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  yourself.  My 
son  will  be  home  to-morrow.  We  will  consult  him  and  see 
what  can  be  done." 

Mother  and  daughter  were  left  alone.  Felicia  rose 
feebly  to  go  to  her  own  room,  which  adjoined  her  mother's. 
She  was  wearing  a  dressing-gown  of  embroidered  silk  — 
pale  blue,  and  shimmering  —  which  Victoria's  maid  had 
wrapped  her  in,  after  the  child's  travelling  clothes,  thread- 
bare and  mud-stained,  had  been  taken  off.  The  girl's 
tiny  neck  and  wrists  emerged  from  it,  her  little  head,  and 
her  face  from  which  weariness  and  distress  had  robbed  all 


308  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

natural  bloom.  What  she  was  wearing,  or  how  she 
looked,  she  did  not  know  and  did  not  care.  But  her 
mother,  in  whom  dress  had  been  for  years  a  passion  never 
to  be  indulged,  was  suddenly  —  though  all  her  exhaustion 
—  enchanted  with  her  daughter's  appearance. 

"Oh,  Fehcia,  you  look  so  nice!" 

She  took  up  the  silk  of  the  dressing-gown  and  passed  it 
through  her  fingers  covetously;  then  her  tired  eyes  ran 
over  the  room,  the  white  bed  standing  ready,  the  dressing- 
table  wath  its  silver  ornaments  and  flowers,  the  chintz- 
covered  sofas  and  chairs. 

"Why  shouldn't  we  be  rich  too?"  she  said  angrily. 
"Your  father  is  richer  than  the  Tathams.  It's  a  wicked, 
wicked  shame!" 

Felicia  put  her  hand  to  her  head. 

"Oh,  do  let  me  go  to  bed,"  she  said  in  Italian. 

Netta  put  her  arm  round  her,  supporting  her.  Pres- 
ently they  passed  a  portrait  on  the  wall,  an  enlarged 
photograph  of  a  boy  in  cricketing  dress. 

Underneath  it  was  WTitten: 

"Harry.     Eton  Eleven.     July  189  — ." 

Felicia  for  the  first  time  showed  a  gleam  of  interest. 
She  stopped  to  look  at  the  picture. 

"\Mioisit?" 

"It  must  be  her  son.  Lord  Tatham." 

The  girl's  sunken  eyes  seemed  to  drink  in  the  pleasant 
image  of  the  English  boy. 

"Shall  we  see  him.'*" 

"Of  course.     To-morrow.    Now  come  to  bed!" 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  309 

Felicia's  head  was  no  sooner  on  the  pillow  than  she 
plunged  into  sleep.  Netta,  on  the  other  hand,  was  for  a 
long  time  sleepless.  The  luxury  of  the  bed  and  the  room 
was  inexpressibly  delightful  and  reviving  to  her.  Recol- 
lections of  a  small  bare  house  in  the  Apuan  Alps  above 
Lucca,  and  of  all  that  she  and  Fehcia  had  endured  there, 
ran  through  her  mind,  mingled  with  visions  of  Threlfall 
as  she  had  known  it  of  old,  its  choked  passages  —  the 
locked  room  from  which  she  had  stolen  the  Hermes  — 
the  great  table  in  Edmund's  room  with  its  litter  of  bric-a- 
brac  —  Edmund  himself     .     .     . 

She  trembled;  alternately  desperate,  and  full  of  fears. 
The  thought  that  Melrose  was  only  a  few  miles  from  her  — 
that  she  was  going  to  face  and  brave  him  after  all  these 
years  —  turned  her  cold  with  terror.  And  yet  misery  had 
made  her  recldess. 

"He  shall  provide  for  us!"  She  gathered  up  her  weak 
soul  into  this  supreme  resolve.  How  wise  she  had  been 
to  follow  the  sudden  impulse  which  had  bade  her  appeal 
to  the  Tathams!  Were  they  not  her  kinsfolk  by  mar- 
riage.'* 

They  knew  what  Edmund  was!  They  were  kind  and 
powerful.  They  would  protect  her,  and  take  up  her 
cause.  Edmund  was  now  an  old  man.  If  he  died,  who 
else  had  a  right  to  his  money  but  she  and  Felicia.?  Oh! 
Lady  Tatham  would  help  them;  she'd  see  them  righted! 
Cradled  in  that  hope,  Netta  Melrose  at  last  fell  asleep. 


XIV 

TATHAM  arrived  at  Duddon  by  the  earliest 
possible  train  on  the  following  morning. 
On  crossing  the  hall  he  perceived  in  the  distance  a 
very  slight  thin  girl,  dressed  in  black,  coming  out  of  his 
mother's  sitting-room.  When  she  saw  him  she  turned 
hurriedly  to  the  stairs  and  ran  up,  only  pausing  once  on 
the  first  landing  to  flash  upon  him  a  singularly  white  face, 
lit  by  singularly  black  eyes.     Then  she  disappeared. 

"Who  is  that  lady?"  he  asked  of  Hurst  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Her  ladyship  expects  you,  my  lord,"  repHed  Hurst 
evasively,  throwing  open  the  door  of  the  morning-room. 
Victoria  was  disclosed;  pacing  up  and  down,  her  hands 
in  the  pockets  of  her  tweed  jacket.  Tatham  saw  at  once 
that  something  had  happened. 

She  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  kissed  him,  and 
delivered  her  news.  She  did  so  with  a  peculiar  and  secret 
zest.  To  watch  how  he  took  the  fresh  experiences  of  life, 
and  to  be  exultantly  proud  and  sure  of  him  the  while,  was 
all  part  of  her  adoration  of  him. 

"Melrose's  wife  and  daughter!  Great  Scot!  So 
they're  not  dead?"     Tatham  stood  amazed. 

"He  seems  to  have  done  his  best  to  kill  them.  They're 
starved  —  and  destitute.     But  here  they  are." 

"And  why  in  the  name  of  fortune  do  they  come  to  us?'* 

310 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  311 

"We  are  cousins,  my  dear  —  and  I  saw  her  twenty 
years  ago.  It  isn't  a  bad  move.  Indeed  the  foolish 
woman  might  have  come  before." 

"But  what  on  earth  can  we  do  for  them?" 

The  young  man  sat  down  bewildered,  while  his  mother 
told  the  story,  piecing  it  together  from  the  rambling 
though  copious  narrative,  which  she  had  gathered  that 
morning  from  Netta  in  her  bed,  where  she  had  been 
forced  to  remain,  at  least  for  breakfast. 

After  her  flight,  Melrose's  fugitive  wife  had  settled 
down  with  her  child  in  Florence,  under  the  wing  of  her  own 
family.  But  they  were  a  shiftless,  importunate  crew,  and, 
in  the  course  of  years,  every  one  of  them  came  more  or 
less  visibly  to  grief.  Her  sisters  married  men  of  the  same 
dubious  world  as  themselves,  and  were  always  in  diffi- 
culties. Netta's  eldest  brother  got  into  trouble  with  the 
bank  where  he  was  employed,  and  another  brother,  as  a 
deserter  from  the  army,  had  to  make  his  escape  to  South 
America.  The  father,  Robert  Smeath,  had  found  it  more 
and  more  difficult  to  earn  anything  on  which  to  keep  his 
belongings,  and  as  a  picture  dealer  seemed  to  have  fallen 
into  bad  odour  with  the  Italian  authorities,  for  reasons  of 
which  Netta  could  give  no  account. 

"And  how  much  do  you  think  Mr.  Melrose  allowed 
his  wife  and  child?"  asked  Victoria,  her  eyes  sparkling. 
^'Eighty  founds  a  year!  —  on  which  in  the  end  the  whole 
family  seem  to  have  lived.  Finally,  the  mother  died,  and 
Mr.  Smeath  got  into  some  scrape  or  other  —  I  naturally 
avoided  the  particulars  —  which  involved  pledging  half 
Mrs.  Melrose's  allowance  for  five  years.  And  on  the  rest 
—  forty  pounds —  she  and  her  daughter,  and  her  old  father 


312  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

have  been  trying  to  live  for  the  last  two.  You  never 
heard  such  a  story !  They  found  a  small  half-ruined  villa 
in  the  mountains  north  of  Pisa,  and  there  they  somehow 
existed.  They  couldn't  afford  nursing  or  doctoring  for 
the  old  father;  they  were  half  starved;  the  mother  and 
daughter  have  both  actually  worked  in  the  vineyards; 
and,  of  course,  they  had  no  servant.  You  should  see  the 
poor  woman's  hands!  Then  she  began  to  write  to  her 
husband.  No  reply  —  for  eighteen  months,  no  reply  — 
till  just  lately,  an  intimation  from  the  Florentine  bank, 
that  if  any  more  similar  letters  were  addressed  to  Mr. 
Melrose  the  allowance  would  be  stopped." 

"Old  fiend!"  cried  Tatham,  "now  we'll  get  at  him!" 
Victoria  went  on  to  describe  how,  at  last,  an  English 
family  who  had  taken  one  of  the  old  villas  on  the  Luccan 
Alps  for  the  summer  had  come  across  the  forlorn  trio. 
They  were  scandalized  by  the  story,  and  they  had  im- 
pressed on  Mrs.  Melrose  that  she  and  her  daughter  had  a 
legal  right  to  suitable  maintenance  from  her  husband. 
Urged  by  them  —  and  starvation  —  Netta  had  at  last 
plucked  up  courage.  The  old  father  was  left  in  the 
charge  of  a  contadino  family,  a  small  loan  was  raised  for 
them  to  which  the  English  visitors  contributed,  and  the 
mother  and  daughter  started  for  home. 

"But  without  us,  or  some  one  else  to  help  her,"  said 
Victoria,  "she  would  never  —  never!  —  get  through  the 
business.  Her  terror  of  JNIelrose  is  a  perfect  disease. 
She  shakes  if  you  mention  his  name.  That  was  what 
made  her  think  of  me  —  and  that  visit  I  paid  her.  Poor 
thing!  she  was  rather  pretty  then.  But  it  was  plain 
enough  what  their  relations  were.     Well,  now,  Harry,  it's 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  313 

for  you  to  say.     But  my  blood's  up!     I  suggest  we  see 
this  thing  through!" 

The  door  slowly  opened  as  she  spoke,  and  two  small 
figures  came  in  silently,  closing  it  behind  them.  There 
they  stood,  a  story  in  themselves;  Netta,  with  the  bearing 
and  the  dress  of  a  shabby  little  housekeeper;  the  girl 
ghastly  thin,  her  shoulder-V>lades  cutting  her  flimsy  dress, 
blue  shadows  in  all  the  hollows  of  the  face,  but  with 
extraordinary  pride  of  bearing,  and  extraordinary  possi- 
bilities of  beauty  in  the  modelling  of  her  delicate  features, 
and  splendid  melancholy  eyes.  Tatham  could  not 
help  staring  at  her.  She  was  indeed  the  disinherited 
princess. 

Then  he  walked  up  to  them,  and  shook  hands  with 
boyish  heartiness. 

"I  say,  you  do  look  pumped  out!  But  don't  you 
worry  too  much.  My  mother  and  I'll  see  what  can  be 
done.  We'll  set  the  lawyers  on,  if  there's  nothing  else. 
It's  a  beastly  shame,  anyway !  But  now,  you  take  it  easy. 
\A'e'll  look  after  you.  Sit  down,  won't  you.'*  Mother's 
chairs  are  the  most  comfortable  in  the  house!" 

He  installed  them;  and  then  at  once  took  the  serious, 
business  air,  which  still  gave  his  mother  a  pleasure  which 
was  half  amusement.  Fehcia,  sitting  in  a  corner  behind 
her  mother's  sofa,  could  not  take  her  eyes  from  him. 
The  tall,  fair  English  youth,  six  foot  two,  and  splendidly 
developed,  the  pink  of  health,  modesty,  and  kindly 
courtesy,  was  different  from  all  other  beings  that  had 
ever  swum  into  her  view.  She  watched  him  close  and 
furtively  —  his  features,  his  dress,  his  gestures;  com- 
paring the  living  man  in  her  mind  with  the  photograph 


314  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

upstairs,  and  so  absorbed  in  her  study  of  him  that  she 
scarcely  heard  a  word  of  the  triangular  discussion  going 
on  between  her  mother,  Tatham,  and  Victoria.  The 
whole  time  she  was  drinking  in  impressions,  as  of  a  god- 
like creature,  all  beneficence. 

After  an  hour's  cross-examination  of  the  poor,  shrinking 
Netta,  Tatham's  blood  too  was  up;  he  was  eager  for  the 
fray.  To  attack  Melrose  was  a  joy;  made  none  the  less 
keen  by  the  reflection  that  to  help  these  two  helpless  ones 
was  a  duty.  Lydia's  approval,  Lydia's  sympathy  were 
certain;  he  kindled  the  more. 

"All  right!"  he  said,  rising.  "Now  I  think  we  are 
agreed  on  the  first  step.  "Faversham  is  our  man.  I 
must  see  Faversham  at  once,  and  set  him  to  work!  If 
I  find  him,  I  will  report  the  result  to  you,  Mrs.  Melrose  — 
so  far  —  by  luncheon  time." 

He  departed,  to  ring  up  the  Threlfall  office  in  Pengarth 
and  inquire  whether  Faversham  could  be  seen  there. 
Victoria  left  the  room  with  him. 

"Have  you  forgotten  these  rumours  of  which  Under- 
shaw  wrote  you?" 

"What,  as  to  Faversham.?  No,  I  have  not  forgotten 
them.  But  I  shan't  take  any  notice  of  them.  He  can't 
accept  anything  for  himself  till  these  two  have  got  their 
due!  What  right  has  he  to  Melrose's  property  at  all.^*" 
said  the  young  man  indignantly. 

The  mother  and  son  had  scarcely  left  the  room  when 
Netta  turned  to  her  daughter  with  trembling  lips. 

"I  haven't"  —  half  whispering  —  "told  them  any- 
thing about  the  Hermes!" 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  315 

"It  was  no  theft!"  said  Felicia  passionately.  "I 
would  tell  anybody!" 

Netta  was  silent,  her  face  working  with  unspoken  fear. 
Suddenly,  Felicia  said  in  her  foreign  English,  pronounced 
with  a  slight  effort,  and  very  precisely: 

"That  is  a  very  beautiful  young  man!" 

Netta  was  startled. 

"Lord  Tatham?  Not  at  all,  Felicia.  He  is  very  nice, 
but  I  do  not  even  call  him  good-looking." 

"He  is  a  very  beautiful  young  man,"  repeated  Felicia 
with  emphasis,  "and  I  am  going  to  marry  him!" 

"Fehcia  !  for  heaven's  sake  —  do  not  show  your  mad 
ways  here!"  cried  Netta,  white  with  new  alarm. 

For  the  first  time  for  many,  many  days  Fehcia  smiled. 
She  got  up  and  went  to  a  glass  that  hung  on  the  wall. 
Taking  one  of  the  sidecombs  from  her  curls,  she  began  to 
pull  them  out,  winding  them  round  her  tiny  fingers, 
making  more  of  them,  and  patting  them  back  into  place, 
till  her  head  was  one  silky  mass  of  ripples.  Then  she 
looked  at  herself. 

"I  must  have  a  new  dress  at  once!"  she  said  per- 
emptorily. 

"I  don't  know  where  you'll  get  it!"  cried  Netta  — 
"you  foolish  child!" 

"The  young  man  will  give  it  me."  And  still  before  the 
glass,  she  gave  a  little  bound,  like  a  kitten.  Then  she  ran 
back  to  her  mother,  took  Netta's  face  in  her  hands, 
dashed  a  kiss  at  it,  and  subsided,  weak  and  gasping,  on  to 
a  sofa.  WTien  Victoria  reappeared  Fehcia  was  motionless 
as  before,  but  there  was  a  first  streak  of  colour  in  her  thin 
cheeks,  and  a  queer  brightness  in  her  eyes. 


316  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Faversham  was  sitting  in  his  Pengarth  office,  turning 
over  the  morning's  post.  He  had  just  ridden  in  from  the 
Tower.  Before  him  lay  a  telephone  message  taken  down 
for  him  by  his  clerk,  before  his  arrival: 

"Lord  Tatham  will  be  at  Mr.  Faversham 's  office  by 
12:30.  He  wishes  to  speak  to  Mr.  Faversham  on  im- 
portant business." 

Something,  no  doubt,  to  do  with  the  right-of-way 
proceedings  to  which  Tatham  was  a  party;  or,  possibly, 
with  a  County  Council  notice  which  had  roused  Melrose  to 
fury,  to  the  effect  that  some  Threlfall  land  would  be  taken 
compulsorily  for  allotments  under  a  recent  Act,  if  the 
land  were  not  provided  by  arrangement. 

"Perfectly  reasonable!  And  every  complaint  that 
Tatham  will  make  —  if  he  has  come  to  complain  —  will  be 
perfectly  reasonable.  And  I  shall  have  to  tell  him  to  go 
to  the  devil!" 

He  sat  pen  in  hand,  staring  at  the  paper  on  his  desk, 
his  mind  divided  between  a  bitter  disgust  with  his  day's 
work  and  the  consciousness  of  a  deep  central  resolve, 
which  that  disgust  did  not  affect,  and  would  not  be 
allowed  to  affect.  He  was  looking  harassed,  pale,  and 
perceptibly  older.  No  doubt  his  general  health  had  not 
yet  fully  recovered  from  his  accident.  Put  those  who 
disliked  in  him  a  certain  natural  haughtiness,  said  that 
he  had  now  more  "side  on"  than  ever. 

A  bell  below  warned  him  of  Tatham's  arrival.  He 
hurriedly  took  out  pai)ers  from  various  drawers,  and 
arranged  them  on  the  office  table.     They  related  to  the 


THE  iMATING  OF  LYDIA  317 

matter  on  which  he  thought  Tatham  might  wish  to  confer 
with  him. 

His  door  opened. 

"Hullo,  Faversham!  Hope  you're  quite  strong,"  said 
the  incomer. 

"All  right,  thank  you."  The  two  men  shook  hands. 
"  You've  been  doing  Scotland  as  usual?  " 

"Two  months  of  it.  Beastly  few  birds.  Not  at  all 
sorry  to  come  back.  Well,  now  —  I've  got  something 
very  surprising  to  talk  to  you  about.  I  say  "  —  he 
looked  round  him  —  "we  shan't  be  disturbed.^*" 

Faversham  rose,  gave  a  telephone  order  and  resumed 
his  seat. 

"Who  do  you  think  we've  got  staying  at  Duddon.''"^ 

"I  haven't  an  idea.     Have  a  cigarette.'*" 

"Thanks.  Has  Melrose  ever  talked  to  you  about  his 
v>'ife  and  daughter?" 

Faversham  stared,  took  a  whiff  at  his  cigarette,  and 
put  it  down. 

"Are  you  here  to  tell  me  anything  about  them?" 

"They  are  staying  at  Duddon  at  this  moment,"  said 
Tatham,  watching  his  effect;  "arrived  last  night  —  penni- 
less and  starving." 

Faversham  flushed. 

"You're  sure  they  are  the  right  people?"  he  said  after 
a  pause. 

Tatham  laughed. 

"My  mother  remembers  Mrs.  Melrose  twenty  years 
ago;  and  the  daughter,  if  it  weren't  that  she's  little  more 
than  skin  and  bone,  would  be  the  image  of  Melrose  —  on 
a  tiny  scale.     Now,  look  here!  this  is  their  story." 


318  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

The  young  man  settled  down  to  it,  telling  it  just  as  it 
had  been  told  to  him,  until  toward  the  end  a  tolerably- 
hot  indignation  forced  its  way,  and  he  used  some  strong 
language  with  regard  to  Melrose,  under  which  Faversham 
sat  silent. 

"I've  no  doubt  he's  told  you  the  same  lies  he's  told 
everybody  else!"  exclaimed  Tatham,  after  waiting  a  little 
for  comments  that  were  slow  in  coming. 

"I  was  quite  aware  they  were  alive,"  said  Faversham, 
slowly. 

"You  were,  by  Jove!" 

"And  I  have  already  appealed  to  Melrose  to  behave 
reasonably  toward  them," 

"Reasonably!  Good  heavens!"  Tatham  had  flushed  in 
his  turn.  "A  man  is  bound  to  behave  rather  more  than 
*  reasonably '  —  toward  his  daughter,  anyway  —  I  don't 
care  what  the  mother  had  done.  I  tell  you  the  girl's  a 
real  beauty,  or  will  be,  when  she's  properly  fed  and 
dressed.  She's  a  girl  anybody  might  be  proud  of.  And 
there  he's  been  wallowing  in  wealth,  while  his  child  has 
been  starving.  And  threatening  to  stop  their  wretched 
allowance!  Well,  you  know  as  well  as  I,  what  public 
opinion  will  be,  if  these  facts  get  about.  Pubhc  opinion 
is  pretty  strong  already.  But,  by  George,  when  this  is 
added  to  the  rest!  Can't  you  persuade  him  to  behave 
himself  before  it  all  gets  into  the  papers?  It  will  get  into 
them  of  course.  There  the  poor  things  are,  and  we  mean 
to  stand  by  them.  There  must  be  a  proper  provision  for 
the  wife  —  that  the  courts  can  get  out  of  him.  And  as  to 
the  girl  —  why,  she  is  his  heiress!  —  and  ought  to  be 
acknowledged  as  such." 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  319 

Tatham  turned  suddenly,  as  he  spoke,  and  fixed  a 
pair  of  very  straight  bhie  eyes  on  his  companion. 

"Mr.  Meh-ose  is  not  bound  to  make  her  his  heir,"  said 
Faversham  quietly. 

"Not  bound!  I  daresay.  But  who  else  is  there? 
He's  not  very  likely  to  leave  it  to  any  of  us,"  said  Tatham 
with  a  grin.  "And  he's  not  the  kind  of  gentleman  to  be 
endowing  missions.     Who  is  there.?"  he  repeated. 

"Mr.  Melrose  will  please  himself,"  said  Faversham, 
coldly.  "Of  that  we  may  be  sure.  Now  then  —  what  is 
it  exactly  that  these  ladies  have  come  to  ask.?"  he  con- 
tinued, in  a  sharp  businesslike  tone.  "You  are  aware  of 
course  that  Mrs.  Melrose  left  her  husband  of  her  own  free 
will  —  without  any  provocation?" 

"You  won't  get  a  judge  to  believe  that  very  easily  — 
in  the  case  of  Melrose!  Anyway  she's  done  nothing  crimi- 
nal. And  she's  willing,  poor  wretch!  to  go  back  to  him. 
But  if  not,  she  asks  for  a  maintenance  allowance,  suitable 
to  his  wealth  and  position,  and  that  the  daughter  should  be 
provided  for.  You  can't  surely  refuse  to  support  us  so 
far?" 

Tatham  had  insensibly  stiffened  in  his  chair.  His 
manner  which  at  first,  though  not  exactly  cordial,  had 
still  been  that  of  the  college  friend  and  contemporary,  had 
unconsciously,  in  the  course  of  the  conversation,  assumed 
a  certain  tone  of  authority,  as  though  there  spoke  through 
him  the  force  of  a  settled  and  traditional  society,  of  which 
he  knew  himself  to  be  one  of  the  natural  chiefs. 

To  Faversham,  full  of  a  secret  bitterness,  this  second 
manner  of  Tatham's  was  merely  arrogance.  His  own 
pride  rose  against  it,  and  what  he  felt  it  implied.     Not  a 


320  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

sign  of  that  confidence  in  the  new  agent  which  had  been  so 
freely  expressed  at  Duddon  a  couple  of  months  before! 
His  detractors  had  no  doubt  been  at  work  with  this  jolly, 
stupid  fellow,  whom  everybody  hked.  He  would  have  to 
fight  for  himself.     Well,  he  would  fight! 

"I  shall  certainly  support  any  just  claim,"  he  said, 
as  Tatham  rose,  "but  I  warn  you  that  Mr.  Melrose 
is  ill  —  he  is  very  irritable  —  and  Mrs.  Melrose  had  better 
not  attempt  to  spring  any  surprises  on  him.  If  she  will 
write  me  a  letter,  I  will  see  that  it  gets  to  Mr.  Melrose,  and 
I  will  do  my  best  for  her." 

"No  one  could  ask  you  to  do  any  more,"  said  Tatham 
heartily,  repenting  himself  a  little.  "They  will  be  with  us 
for  the  present.  Mrs.  Melrose  shall  write  you  a  full 
statement  and  you  will  reply  to  Duddon.?" 

"By  all  means." 

"There  are  a  good  many  other  things,"  said  Tatham  — 
uncertainly  —  as  he  lingered,  hat  in  hand  —  "that  you 
and  I  might  discuss  —  Mainstairs,  for  instance !  I  ought 
to  tell  you  that  my  mother  has  just  sent  two  nurses  there. 
The  condition  of  things  is  simply  appalling." 

Faversham  straightened  his  tall  figure. 

"Mainstairs  is  a  deadlock.  Mr.  Melrose  won't  repair 
the  cottages.  He  intends  to  pull  them  down.  He  has 
given  the  people  notice,  and  he  is  receiving  no  rent.  They 
won't  go.  I  suppose  the  next  step  will  be  to  apply  for  an 
ejectment  order.  Meanwhile  the  people  stay  at  their  own 
peril.     There  you  have  the  whole  thing." 

"I  hear  the  children  are  dying  like  flies." 

"I  can  do  nothing,"  said  Faversham. 

Again  a  shock  of  antagonism  passed  through  the  two 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  321 

men.  "Yes,  you  can!"  thought  Tatham;  "you  can  re- 
sign your  fat  post,  and  your  expectations,  and  put  the 
screw  on  the  old  man,  that's  what  you  could  do."  Aloud 
he  said: 

"A  couple  of  thousand  pounds,  according  to  Undershaw, 
would  do  the  job.  If  you  succeed  in  forcing  them  out, 
where  are  they  to  go.^*" 

"That's  not  our  affair." 

Tatham  caught  up  his  hat  and  stick,  and  abruptly 
departed;  reflecting  indeed  when  he  reached  the  street, 
that  he  had  not  been  the  most  diplomatic  of  ambassadors 
on  Mrs.  Melrose's  behalf. 

Faversham,  after  some  ten  minutes  of  motionless  reflec- 
tion, heavily  returned  to  his  papers,  ordering  his  horse  to 
be  ready  in  half  an  hour.  He  forced  himself  to  write 
some  ordinary  business  letters,  and  to  eat  some  lunch,  and 
immediately  after  he  started  on  horseback  to  find  his  way 
through  the  October  lanes  to  the  village  of  Mainstairs. 

A  man  more  harassed,  and  yet  more  resolved,  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  find.  For  six  weeks  now  he 
had  been  wading  deeper  and  deeper  into  a  moral  quag- 
mire from  which  he  saw  no  issue  at  all  —  except  indeed  by 
the  death  of  Edmund  Melrose!  That  event  would  solve 
all  difficulties. 

For  some  time  now  he  had  been  convinced,  not  only 
that  the  mother  and  daughter  were  living,  but  that 
there  had  been  some  recent  communication  between 
them  and  Melrose.  Various  trifling  incidents  and  cryptic 
sayings  of  the  old  man,  not  now  so  much  on  his  guard  as 
formerly,   had   led   Faversham  to   this  conclusion.     He 


322  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

realized  that  he  himself  had  been  haunted  of  late  by  the 
constant  expectation  that  they  might  turn  up. 

Well,  now  they  had  turned  up.  Was  he  at  once  to 
make  way  for  them,  as  Tatham  clearly  took  for  granted? 

—  to  advise  Melrose  to  tear  up  his  newly  made  will,  and 
gracefully  surrender  his  expectations  as  Melrose's  heir  to 
this  girl  of  twenty-one.'^     By  no  means! 

^Miat  is  the  claim  of  birth  in  such  a  case,  if  you  come  to 
that?  Look  at  it  straight  in  the  face.  A  child  is  born  to  a 
certain  father;  is  then  torn  from  that  father  against  his 
will,  and  brought  up  for  twenty  years  out  of  his  reach. 
What  claim  has  that  child,  when  mature,  upon  the  father 

—  beyond,  of  course,  a  claim  for  reasonable  provision  — 
unless  he  chooses  to  acknowledge  a  further  obligation? 
None  whatever.  The  father  has  lived  his  life,  and  accumu- 
lated his  fortune,  without  the  child's  help,  without  the 
child's  affection  or  tendance.  His  possessions  are  morally 
and  legally  his  own,  to  deal  with  as  he  pleases. 

In  the  course  of  life,  other  human  beings  become 
connected  with  him,  attached  to  him,  and  he  to  them. 
Natural  claims  must  be  considered  and  decently  satisfied 

—  agreed !  But  for  the  disposal  of  a  man's  superfluities, 
of  such  a  fortune  as  Melrose's,  there  is  no  law  —  there 
ought  to  be  no  law;  and  the  English  character,  as  distinct 
from  the  French,  has  decided  that  there  shall  be  no  law. 
"If  his  hking,  or  his  caprice  even,"  thought  Faversham 
passionately,  "chooses  to  make  me  his  heir,  he  has  every 
right  to  give,  and  I  to  accept.  I  am  a  stranger  to  him; 
so,  in  all  but  the  physical  sense,  is  his  daughter.  But  I 
am  not  a  stranger  to  English  life.  My  upbringing  and 
experience  —  even  such  as  they  are  —  are  better  qualifica- 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  323 

tions  than  hers.  What  can  a  girl  of  twenty,  partly  Italian, 
brought  up  away  from  England,  hardly  speaking  her 
father's  tongue,  do  for  this  English  estate,  compared  to 
what  I  could  do  —  with  a  free  hand,  and  a  million  to 
draw  on?  Whom  do  I  wrong  by  accepting  what  a 
miraculous  chance  has  brought  me  —  by  standing  by  it  — 
by  fighting  for  it?  No  one  —  justly  considered.  And  I 
will  fight  for  it  —  though  a  hundred  Tathams  call  me 
adventurer!" 

So  much  for  the  root  determination  of  the  man;  the 
result  of  weeks  of  excited  brooding  over  wealth,  and 
what  can  be  done  with  wealth,  amid  increasing  difficulties 
and  problems  from  all  sides. 

His  determination  indeed  did  not  protect  him  from  the 
attacks  of  conscience;  of  certain  moral  instincts  and 
prepossessions,  that  is,  natural  to  a  man  of  his  birth  and 
environment. 

The  mind,  however,  replied  to  them  glibly  enough.  "I 
shall  do  the  just  and  reasonable  thing!  As  I  promised 
Tatham,  I  shall  look  into  the  story  of  these  two  women, 
and  if  it  is  what  it  professes  to  be,  I  shall  press  Melrose 
to  provide  for  them." 

Conscience  objected:     "If  he  refuses?" 

"They  can  enforce  their  claim  legally,  and  I  shall 
make  him  realize  it." 

"Can  you?"  said  Conscience.  "Have  you  any  hold 
upon  him  at  all?" 

A  flood  of  humiliation,  indeed,  rushed  in  upon  him,  as 
he  recalled  his  effort,  while  Melrose  was  away  in  August, 
to  make  at  least  some  temporary  improvement  in  the 
condition  of  the  Mainstairs  cottages  —  secretly  —  out  of 


324  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

his  own  money  —  by  the  help  of  the  cottagers  themselves. 
The  attempt  had  been  reported  to  Melrose  by  that  spying 
little  beast,  Nash,  and  peremptorily  stopped  by  telegram 
—  "Kindly  leave  my  property  alone.  It  is  not  yours  to 
meddle  with." 

And  that  most  abominable  scene,  after  Melrose's 
return  to  the  Tower!  Faversham  could  never  think  of  it 
without  shame  and  disgust.  Ten  times  had  he  been  on  the 
point  of  dashing  down  his  papers  at  Melrose's  feet,  and 
turning  his  back  on  the  old  madman,  and  his  house,  for- 
ever. It  was,  of  course,  the  thought  of  the  gifts  he  had 
already  accepted,  and  of  that  vast  heritage  waiting  for  him 
when  Melrose  should  be  in  his  grave,  which  had  restrained 
him  —  that  alone;  no  cynic  could  put  it  more  nakedly 
than  did  Faversham's  own  thoughts.  He  was  tied  and 
bound  by  his  own  actions,  and  his  own  desires;  he  had 
submitted  —  grovelled  to  a  tyrant;  and  he  knew  well 
enough  that  from  that  day  he  had  been  a  lesser  and  a 
meaner  man. 

But  —  no  silly  exaggeration !  He  straightened  himseK 
in  his  saddle.  He  was  doing  plenty  of  good  work  else- 
where, work  with  which  Melrose  did  not  trouble  himself 
to  interfere;  work  which  would  gradually  tell  upon  the 
condition  and  happiness  of  the  estate.  Put  that  against 
the  other.  Men  are  not  plaster  saints  —  or,  still  less, 
live  ones,  with  the  power  of  miracle;  but  struggling 
creatures  of  flesh  and  blood,  who  do,  not  what  they  will, 
but  what  they  can. 

And  suddenly  he  seemed  once  more  to  be  writing  to 
Lydia  Penfold.  How  often  he  had  written  to  her  during 
these  two  months  !    He  recalled  the  joy  of  the  earlier 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  325 

correspondence,  in  which  he  had  been  his  natural  self, 
pleading,  arguing,  planning;  showing  all  the  eagerness  — 
the  sincere  eagerness  —  there  was  in  him,  to  make  a  decent 
job  of  his  agency,  to  stand  well  with  his  new  neighbours  — 
above  all  with  "one  slight  girl." 

And  her  letters  to  him  —  sweet,  frank,  inteUigent, 
sympathetic  —  they  had  been  his  founts  of  refreshing,  his 
manna  by  the  way.  Until  that  fatal  night,  when  Melrose 
had  crushed  in  him  all  that  foolish  optimism  and  self- 
conceit  with  which  he  had  entered  into  the  original  bar- 
gain! Since  then,  he  knew  well  that  his  letters  had 
chilled  and  disappointed  her;  they  had  been  the  letters 
of  a  slave. 

And  now  this  awful  business  at  Mainstairs!  Bessie 
Dobbs,  the  girl  of  eighteen  —  Lydia's  friend  —  who  had 
been  slowly  dying  since  the  diphtheria  epidemic  of  the  year 
before,  was  dead  at  last,  after  much  suffering;  and  he  did 
not  expect  to  find  the  child  of  eight,  her  little  sister,  still 
alive.  There  were  nearly  a  score  of  other  cases,  and  there 
were  three  children  down  with  scarlet  fever,  besides  some 
terrible  attacks  of  blood-poisoning  —  one  after  childbirth 

—  due  probably  to  some  form  of  the  scarlet  fever  infec- 
tion, acting  on  persons  weakened  by  the  long  effect  of 
filthy  conditions.     What  would  Lydia  say,  when  she  knew 

—  when  she  came?  From  her  latest  letter  it  was  not 
clear  to  him  on  what  day  she  would  reach  home.  After 
making  his  inspection  he  would  ride  on  to  Green  Cottage 
and  inquire.  He  dreaded  to  meet  her;  and  yet  he  was 
eager  to  defend  himself;  his  mind  \^■as  already  rehearsing 
all  that  he  would  say. 

A  long  lane,  shaded  by  heavy  trees,  made  an  abrupt 


326  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

turning,  and  he  saw  before  him  the  Mainstairs  village  — 
one  straggling  street  of  wretched  houses,  mostly  thatched, 
and  built  of  "clay-lump,"  whitewashed.  In  a  county 
of  prosperous  farming,  and  good  landlords,  where  cottages 
had  been  largely  rebuilt  during  the  preceding  century, 
this  miserable  village,  with  various  other  hamlets  and 
almost  all  the  cottages  attached  to  farms  on  the  Melrose 
estate,  were  the  scandal  of  the  countryside.  Roofs  that 
let  in  rain  and  wind,  clay  floors,  a  subsoil  soaked  in  every 
possible  abomination,  bedrooms  "  more  like  dens  for  wild 
animals  than  sleeping-places  for  men  and  women,"  to 
quote  a  recent  Government  report,  and  a  polluted  water 
supply !  —  what  more  could  reckless  human  living,  aided 
by  human  carelessness  and  cruelty,  have  done  to  make 
a  hell  of  natural  beauty.'' 

Over  the  village  rose  the  low  shoulder  of  a  grassy  fell,  its 
patches  of  golden  fern  glistening  under  the  October 
sunshine;  great  sycamores,  with  their  rounded  masses  of 
leaf,  hung  above  the  dilapidated  roofs,  as  though  Nature 
herself  tried  to  shelter  the  beings  for  whom  men  had  no 
care;  the  thatched  slopes  were  green  with  moss  and 
weed;  and  the  blue  smoke  wreaths  that  rose  from  the 
chimneys,  together  with  the  few  flowers  that  gleamed  in 
the  gardens,  the  picturesque  irregularity  of  the  houses, 
and  the  general  setting  of  wood  and  distant  mountain, 
made  of  the  poisoned  village  a  "subject,"  on  which  a 
wandering  artist,  who  had  set  up  his  canvas  at  the  corner 
of  the  road,  was  at  the  moment,  indeed,  hard  at  work. 
There  might  be  death  in  those  houses;  but  out  of  the 
beauty  which  sunshine  strikes  from  ruin,  a  man,  honestly 
in  search  of  a  few  pounds,  was  making  what  he  could. 


THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA  327 

To  Faversham's  overstrung  mind  the  whole  scene 
was  as  the  blood-stained  palace  of  the  Atreidse  to  the 
agonized  vision  of  Cassandra.  He  saw  it  steeped  in 
death  — death  upon  death  —  and  dreaded  of  what  new 
"murder"  he  might  hear  as  soon  as  he  approached  the 
houses.  For  what  was  it  but  murder.^  His  conscience, 
arguing  with  itself,  did  not  dispute  the  word.  Had 
Melrose,  out  of  his  immense  income,  spent  a  couple  of 
thousand  pounds  on  the  village  at  any  time  during  the 
preceding  years,  a  score  of  deaths  would  have  been 
saved,  and  the  physical  degeneracy  of  a  whole  population 
would  have  been  prevented. 

Heavens!  that  light  figure  in  Dobbs's  garden,  talking 
with  the  old  shepherd  —  his  heart  leapt  and  then  sickened. 
It  was  Lydia. 

A  poignant  fear  stirred  in  him.  He  gave  his  horse  a 
touch  of  the  whip,  and  was  at  her  side. 

"Miss  Penfold!  —  you  oughtn't  to  be  here!  For 
heaven's  sake  go  home!" 

Lydia,  who  in  the  absorption  of  her  talk  with  the 
shepherd  had  not  heard  his  approach,  turned  with  a  start. 
Her  face  was  one  of  passionate  grief  —  there  were  tears 
on  her  cheek. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Faversham " 

"The  child?"  he  asked,  as  he  dismounted. 

"She  died  —  last  night." 

"Aye,  an'  there's  another  doon  —  t'  li'le  boy  —  t'  three- 
year-old,"  said  old  Dobbs  sharply,  straightenmg  himself 
on  his  stick,  at  sight  of  the  agent. 

"The  nurses  are  here?"  said  Faversham  after  a  pause. 


3-28  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Aye, "  said  the  shepherd,  turning  toward  his  cottage, 
"but  they  can  do  nowt.  The  childer  are  marked  for 
deein  afore  they're  sick."  And  he  walked  away,  his  inner 
mind  shaken  with  a  passion  that  forbade  him  to  stay  and 
talk  with  Melrose's  agent. 

Two  or  three  labourers  who  w^ere  lounging  in  front 
of  their  houses  came  slowly  toward  the  agent.  It  was 
evident  that  there  was  unemployment  as  well  as  disease 
in  the  village,  and  that  the  neighbouring  farms,  where 
there  were  young  children,  were  cutting  themselves  ofip, 
as  much  as  they  could,  from  the  Mainstairs  infection,  by 
dismissing  the  Mainstairs  men. 

Faversham  meanwhile  again  implored  Lydia  to  go 
home.  "This  whole  place  reeks  with  infection.  You 
ought  not  to  be  here." 

"They  say  that  nothing  has  been  done!" 

Her  tone  was  quiet,  but  her  look  pierced. 

"I  tried.  It  was  impossible.  The  only  thing  that 
could  be  done  was  that  the  people  should  go.  They  are 
under  notice.  Every  single  person  is  here  in  defiance 
of  the  law.     The  police  will  have  to  be  called  in." 

"And  where  are  we  to  goa,  sir!"  cried  one  of  the  men 
who  had  come  up.  "Theer's  noa  house  to  be  had  nearer 
than  Pengarth  —  yo '  know  that  yoursen  —  an'  how  are 
we  to  be  waaldn'  fower  mile  to  our  work  i'  t'  mornin',  an' 
fower  mile  back  i'  t'  evening.''  Why,  we  ha  vena  got  t' 
strength !  It  isna  exactly  a  health  resort  —  yo'  ken  — 
Mainstairs!" 

"I'll  tell  yo'  where  soom  on  us  might  goa,  Muster 
Faversham,"  said  another  older  man,  removing  the  pipe 
he  had  been  stolidly  smoking;  "theer's  two  farmhouses 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  329 

o'  Melrose's,  within  half  a  mile  o'  this  place  —  shut  oop  — 
noabody  there.  They're  big  houses  —  yan  o'  them  wor 
an'  owd  manor-house,  years  agone.  A  body  might  put 
oop  five  or  six  families  in  'em  at  a  pinch,  Thattens  might 
dea  for  a  beginnin';  while  soom  o'  these  houses  were 
coomin'  doon." 

Lydia  turned  eagerly  to  Faversham. 

"  Couldn't  that  be  done  —  some  of  the  families  with 
j^oung  children  that  are  not  yet  attacked?"  Her  eyes 
hung  on  him. 

He  shook  his  head.  He  had  already  proposed  some- 
thing of  the  sort  to  Melrose.     It  had  been  vetoed. 

The  men  watched  him.  At  last  one  of  them  —  a  lanl^y 
youth,  with  a  frowning,  ironic  expression  and  famous 
as  a  heckler  at  public  meetings  —  said  with  slow  em- 
phasis : 

"There'll  coom  a  day  i'  this  coontry,  mates,  when  men 
as  treat  poor  foak  like  Muster  Melrose,  'ull  be  pulled  off  t' 
backs  of  oos  an'  our  like.     And  may  aa  live  to  see  't!" 

"Aye!  aye!"  came  in  deep  assent  from  the  others,  as 
they  turned  away.  But  one  white  and  sickly  fellow 
looked  back  to  say: 

"An'  it's  a  graatpity  for  a  yoong  monlike  you,  sir,  to 
be  doin'  Muster  Melrose's  dirty  work  —  taakin'  o'  the 
police  —  as  though  yo'  had  'em  oop  your  sleeve!" 

"Haven't  I  done  what  I  could  for  you.''"  cried  Faver- 
sham, stung  by  the  reproach,  and  its  effect  on  Lydia's 
face. 

"Aye  —  mebbe  —  but  it's  nowt  to  boast  on."  The 
man,  middle  aged  but  prematurely  old,  stood  still,  trem- 
bling from  head  to  foot.     "My  babe  as  wor  born  yester- 


330  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

day,  deed  this  mornin';  an'  they  say  t'  wife  'ull  lig  beside 
it  afore  night." 

There  was  a  sombre  silence.  Faversham  broke  it. 
"I  must  see  the  nurses,"  he  said  to  Lydia;  "  but  again,  I 
beg  of  you  to  go!     I  will  send  you  news." 

"I  will  wait  for  you.  Don't  be  afraid.  I  won't  go 
indoors." 

He  went  round  the  houses,  watched  by  the  people, 
as  they  stood  at  their  doors.  He  himself  was  paying  two 
nurses,  and  now  Lady  Tatham  had  sent  two  more.  He 
satisfied  himself  that  they  had  all  the  stores  which  Under- 
shaw  had  ordered;  he  left  a  donation  of  money  with  one  of 
them,  and  then  he  returned  to  Lydia. 

They  walked  together  in  silence;  while  a  boy  from  the 
village  led  Faversham's  horse  some  distance  in  the  rear. 
All  that  Faversham  had  meant  to  say  had  dropped  away 
from  him.  His  planned  defence  of  himself  could  find  no 
voice. 

"You  too  blame  me.'*"  he  said,  at  last,  hoarsely. 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think.  But  when  we  last  met  — 
you  were  so  hopeful " 

"  Yes  —  like  a  fool.  But  what  can  you  do  —  with  a 
madman." 

"Can  you  bear  —  to  be  still  In  his  employ?" 
^     She  looked  up,  her  beautiful  eyes  bright  and  challenging. 

"Mainstairs  is  not  the  whole  estate.  If  I'm  powerless 
here  —  I'm  not  elsewhere " 

She  was  silent.     He  turned  upon  her. 

"  If  you  are  to  misunderstand  and  mistrust  me  —  then 
indeed  I  shall  lose  heart!" 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  331 

The  feeling,  one  might  almost  say  the  anguish,  in  his 
dark,  commanding  face  moved  her  strangely.  Condem- 
nation and  pity  —  aye,  and  something  else  than  pity  — 
struggled  within  her.  For  the  first  time  Lydia  began  to 
know  herself.     She  was  strangely  shaken. 

"I  will  try  —  and  understand,"  she  said  in  a  voice  that 
trembled. 

"All  my  power  of  doing  anything  depends  on  it!"  he 
said,  passionately.  "I  can  say  truly  that  things  would 
have  been  infinitely  worse  if  I  had  not  been  here.  And  I 
have  worked  like  a  horse  to  better  them  —  before  you 
came." 

She  was  silent.  His  appeal  to  her  as  to  his  judge  hurt 
her  poignantly.  Yet  what  could  she  do  or  say,''  Her 
natural  longing  was  to  console;  but  where  were  the  ele- 
ments of  consolation.'*  Could  anything  be  worse  than 
what  she  had  seen  and  heard? 

The  mingled  emotion  which  silenced  her,  warned  her 
not  to  continue  the  conversation.  She  perceived  the 
opening  of  a  side-lane  leading  back  to  the  river  and  the 
Keswick  road. 

"This  is  my  best  way,  I  think,"  she  said,  pausing,  and 
holding  out  her  hand.  "The  pony-cart  is  waiting  for  me 
at  Whitebeck." 

He  looked  at  her  in  distress,  yet  also  in  anger.  A 
friend  might  surely  have  stood  by  him  more  cordially, 
believed  in  him  more  simply. 

"You  are  at  home  again.''     I  may  come  and  see  you." 

"Please!     We  shall  want  to  hear." 

Her  tone  was  embarrassed.  They  parted  almost 
coldly. 


332  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Lydia  walked  quickly  home,  down  a  sloping  lane  from 
which  the  ravines  of  Blencathra,  edge  behind  edge, 
chasm  beyond  chasm,  were  to  be  seen  against  the  sunset, 
and  all  the  intermediate  landscape  —  wood,  and  stubble, 
and  ferny  slope  —  steeped  in  stormy  majesties  of  light. 
But  for  once  the  quick  artist  sense  was  shut  against 
Nature's  spectacles.  She  walked  in  a  blind  anguish  of 
self-knowledge  and  self-scorn.  She  who  had  plumed  her- 
self on  the  poised  mind,  the  mastered  senses ! 

She  moaned  to  herself. 

"Why  didn't  he  tell  me  —  warn  me!  To  sell  himself 
to  that  man  —  to  act  for  him  —  defend  him  —  apologize 
for  him  —  and  for  those  awful,  awful  things !  An  agent 
must." 

And  she  thought  of  some  indignant  talk  of  Undershaw, 
which  she  had  heard  that  morning. 

Her  moral  seK  was  full  of  repulsion;  her  heart  was  torn. 
Friend.'*  She  owned  her  weakness,  and  despised  it. 
Turning  aside,  she  leant  a  while  against  a  gate,  hiding  her 
face  from  the  glory  of  the  evening.  Week  by  week  — 
she  knew  it  now !  —  through  that  frank  interchange  of 
mind  with  mind,  of  heart  with  heart,  represented  by  that 
earlier  correspondence,  still  more  perhaps  through  the 
checks  and  disappointments  of  its  later  phases,  Claude 
Faversham  had  made  his  way  into  the  citadel. 

The  puny  defences  she  had  built  about  the  freedom  of 
her  maiden  life  and  will  lay  in  ruins.  Her  theories  were 
scattered  like  the  autumn  leaves  that  were  scuddering 
over  the  fields.  His  voice,  the  very  roughened  bitterness 
of  it;  his  eyes,  with  their  peremptory  challenge,  their  sore 
accusingness;  the  very  contradictions  of  the  man's  per- 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  333 

sonality,  now  delightful,  now  repellent,  and,  breathing 
through  them  all,  the  passion  she  must  needs  divine  — 
of  these  various  impressions,  small  and  great,  she  was  the 
struggling  captive.     Serenity,  peace  were  gone. 

Meanwhile,  as  Faversham  rode  toward  the  Tower, 
absorbed  at  one  moment  in  a  misery  of  longing,  and  the 
next  in  a  heat  of  self-defence,  perhaps  the  strongest  feel- 
ing that  finally  emerged  was  one  of  dismay  that  her 
abrupt  leave-taking  had  prevented  him  from  telling  her  of 
that  other  matter  of  which  Tatham's  visit  had  informed 
him.  She  must  hear  of  it  immediately,  and  from  those 
who  would  judge  and  perhaps  denounce  him. 

Nevertheless,  as  he  dismounted  at  the  Tower,  neither 
the  burden  of  Mainstairs,  nor  the  fear  of  Lydia's  dis- 
approval, nor  the  agitation  of  the  news  from  Duddon,  had 
moved  him  one  jot  from  his  purpose.  A  man  surely  is  a 
coward  and  a  weakling,  he  thought,  who  cannot  grasp  the 
"skirts  of  happy  chance,"  while  they  are  there  for  the 
grasping;  cannot  take  what  the  gods  offer,  while  they 
offer  it,  lest  they  withdraw  it  forever. 

Yet,  suppose,  that  by  his  own  act,  he  raised  a  moral 
barrier  between  himself  and  Lydia  Penfold  which  such  a 
personality  would  never  permit  itself  to  pass  .5* 

His  vanity,  a  touch  of  natural  cynicism,  refused,  in  the 
end,  to  let  him  believe  it.  His  hope  lay  in  a  frank  wrestle 
with  her,  a  frank  attack  upon  her  intelhgence.  He 
promised  himself  to  attempt  it  without  delay. 


XV 

THE  day  following  the  interview  between  Tatham 
and  Faversham  was  a  day  of  expectation  for  the 
inmates  of  Duddon.  On  the  evening  before, 
Tatham  with  much  toil  had  extracted  a  more  or  less, 
coherent  statement  from  Netta  Melrose,  persuading  her 
to  throw  it  into  the  form  of  an  appeal  to  her  husband. 
"If  we  can't  do  anything  by  reasoning,  why  then  we  must 
try  pressure,"  he  had  said  to  her,  in  his  suavest  County 
Council  manner;  "but  we  won't  talk  law  to  begin  with." 
The  statement  when  finished  and  written  out  in  Netta's 
childish  hand  was  sent  by  messenger,  late  in  the  evening, 
within  a  covering  letter  to  Faversham,  written  by  Tatham. 
Tatham  afterward  devoted  himself  till  nearly  midnight 
to  composing  a  letter  to  Lydia.  He  had  unaccountably 
missed  her  that  afternoon,  for  when  he  arrived  at  the 
cottage  from  Pengarth  she  was  out,  and  neither  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold  nor  Susy  knew  where  she  was.  In  fact  she  was  at 
Mainstairs,  and  with  Faversham.  She  had  mistaken  a 
phrase  in  Tatham 's  note  of  the  morning,  and  did  not 
expect  him  till  later.  He  had  waited  an  hour  for  her, 
under  the  soft  patter  of  Mrs.  Penf old's  embarrassed  con- 
versation; and  had  then  ridden  home,  sorely  disappointed, 
but  never  for  one  instant  blaming  the  beloved. 

But  later,  in  the  night  silence,  he  poured  out  to  her  all 
his  budget:  the  arrival  of  the  Melroses;  their  story;  his 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  335 

interview  with  Faversham;  and  his  plans  for  helping 
them  to  their  rights.  To  a  "friend"  it  was  only  allowed, 
besides,  to  give  restrained  expression  to  his  rapturous  joy 
in  being  near  her  again,  and  his  disappointment  of  the 
afternoon.  He  thought  over  every  word,  as  he  wrote 
it  down,  his  eyes  sometimes  a  little  dim  in  the  lamp-light. 
The  very  reserve  imposed  upon  him  did  but  strengthen  his 
passion.  Nor  could  young  hopes  beheve  in  ultimate 
defeat. 

At  the  same  time,  the  thought  of  Faversham  held  the 
background  of  his  mind.  Though  by  now  he  himself 
cordially  disliked  Faversham,  he  was  quite  aware  of  the 
attraction  the  new  agent's  proud  and  melancholy  person- 
ality might  have  for  women.  He  had  seen  it  working  in 
Lydia's  case,  and  he  had  been  uncomfortably  aware  at 
one  time  of  the  frequent  references  to  Faversham  in 
Lydia's  letters.  It  was  evident  that  Faversham  had 
pushed  the  acquaintance  with  the  Penfolds  as  far  as 
he  could;  that  he  was  Lydia's  familiar  correspondent,  and 
constantly  appealing  for  help  to  her  knowledge  of  the 
country  folk.  An  excellent  road  to  intimacy,  as  Tatham 
uneasily  admitted,  considering  Lydia's  love  for  the  people 
of  the  dales,  and  her  passionate  sympathy  with  the 
victims  of  Melrose's  ill-deeds. 

Ah!  but  the  very  causes  which  had  been  throwing  her 
into  an  intimacy  with  Faversham  must  surely  now  be 
chilling  and  drawing  her  back?  Tatham,  the  young 
reformer,  felt  an  honest  indignation  with  the  failure  of 
Claude  Faversham  to  do  the  obvious  and  necessary  work 
he  had  promised  to  do.  Tatham,  the  lover,  knew  very 
well  that  if  he  had  come  back  to  find  Faversham  the  hero 


336  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

of  the  piece,  with  a  grateful  countryside  at  his  feet,  his 
own  jealous  anxiety  would  have  been  even  greater  than  it 
was.  For  it  was  great,  argue  with  himself  as  he  might. 
A  dread  for  which  he  could  not  account  often  over- 
shadowed him.  It  was  caused  perhaps  by  his  constant 
memory  of  Faversham  and  Lydia  on  the  terrace  at  Threl- 
fall  —  of  the  two  faces  turned  to  each  other  —  of  the 
sudden  fusion  as  it  were  of  the  two  personalities  in  a 
common  rush  of  memories,  interests,  and  sympathies,  in 
which  he  himself  had  no  part.     .     .     . 

He  put  up  his  letter  on  the  stroke  of  midnight,  and 
then  walked  his  room  a  while  longer,  struggling  with  him- 
self and  the  passion  of  his  desire;  praying  that  he  might 
win  her.  Finally  he  took  a  well-worn  Bible  from  a  locked 
drawer,  and  read  some  verses  from  the  Gospel  of  St.  John, 
quieting  himself.  He  never  went  to  sleep  without  reading 
either  a  psalm  or  some  portion  of  the  New  Testament. 
The  influence  of  his  Eton  tutor  had  made  him  a  Christian 
of  a  simple  and  convinced  type;  and  his  mother's  agnosti- 
cism had  never  affected  him.  But  he  and  she  never 
talked  of  religion. 

Nothing  arrived  from  Threlfall  the  following  day 
during  the  morning.  After  luncheon,  Victoria  announced 
her  intention  of  going  to  call  on  the  Penfolds. 

"You  can  follow  me  there  in  the  motor,"  she  said  to  her 
son;  "and  if  any  news  comes,  bring  it  on." 

They  were  in  the  drawing-room.  Netta,  white  and 
silent,  was  stretched  on  the  sofa,  where  Victoria  had  just 
spread  a  shawl  over  her.  Felicia  appeared  to  be  turning 
over  an  illustrated  paper,  but  was  in  reality  watching  the 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  337 

mother  and  son  out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes.  Every- 
thing that  was  said  containing  a  mention  of  the  Penfolds 
struck  in  her  an  attentive  ear.  The  casual  conversation 
of  the  house  had  shown  her  already  that  there  were  three 
ladies  —  two  of  them  young  —  who  were  living  not  far 
from  Duddon,  and  were  objects  of  interest  to  both  Lady 
Tatham  and  her  son.  Flowers  were  sent  them,  and  new 
books.  They  were  not  relations;  and  not  quite  ordinary 
acquaintances.  All  this  had  excited  a  furious  curiosity 
in  Felicia.  She  wished  —  was  determined  indeed  —  to 
see  these  ladies  for  herself. 

"You  will  hardly  want  to  go  out,"  said  Victoria  gently, 
standmg  by  Netta's  sofa,  and  looking  down  with  kind  eyes 
on  the  weary  woman  lying  there. 

Netta  shook  her  head;  then  putting  out  her  hand  she 
took  Victoria's  and  pressed  it.  Victoria  understood  that 
she  was  waiting  feverishly  for  the  answer  from  Threlfall, 
and  could  do  nothing  and  think  of  nothing  till  it  arrived. 

"And  your  daughter?"     She  looked  round  for  Felicia. 

"I  wish  to  drive  in  a  motor,"  said  Felicia,  rising  and 
speaking  with  a  decision  which  amused  Victoria.  Pend- 
ing the  arrival  from  London  of  some  winter  costumes  on 
approval,  Victoria's  maid  had  arranged  for  the  little 
Italian  a  picturesque  dress  of  dark  blue  silk,  from  a  gown 
of  her  mistress',  by  which  the  emaciation  of  the  girl's  small 
frame  was  somewhat  disguised;  while  the  beauty  of  the 
material,  and  of  the  delicate  embroideries  on  the  collar  and 
sleeves,  strangely  heightened  the  grace  of  her  curly  head, 
and  the  effect  of  her  astonishing  eyes,  so  liquidly  bright, 
in  a  face  too  slight  for  them. 

In  forty-eight  hours,  even,  of  comfort  and  cosseting 


338  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

her  elfish  thinness  had  become  a  shade  less  ghastly;  and 
the  self-possession  which  had  emerged  from  the  state  of 
collapse  in  which  she  had  arrived  amazed  Victoria.  A 
week  before,  so  it  appeared,  she  had  been  earning  a  franc 
a  day  in  the  vineyard  of  a  friendly  coniadino.  And  already 
one  might  have  thought  her  bred  in  castles.  She  was  not 
abashed  or  bewildered  by  the  luxm-ies  of  Duddon,  as 
Netta  clearly  was.  Rather,  she  seemed  to  seize  greedily 
and  by  a  natural  instinct  upon  all  that  came  her  way  — 
motors,  pretty  frocks,  warm  baths  in  luxurious  bath- 
rooms, and  the  attentions  of  Victoria's  maid.  Victoria 
believed  that  she  had  grasped  the  whole  situation  with 
regard  to  Threlfall.  She  was  quite  aware,  it  seemed,  of 
the  magnitude  of  her  father's  wealth;  of  all  that  hung  upon 
her  own  chances  of  inheritance;  and  of  the  value,  to  her 
cause  and  her  mother's,  of  the  support  of  Duddon.  Her 
likeness  to  her  father  came  out  hour  by  hour,  and  there 
were  moments  when  the  tiny  creature  carried  herself  like  a 
Melrose  in  miniature. 

Victoria's  advent  was  awaited  at  Green  Cottage,  she 
having  telephoned  to  Mrs.  Penfold  in  the  morning,  with 
something  of  a  flutter.  Her  visits  there  had  not  been 
frequent;  and  this  was  the  first  time  she  had  called  since 
Tatham's  proposal  to  Lydia.  That  event  had  never  been 
avowed  by  Lydia,  as  we  have  seen,  even  to  her  mother; 
Lydia  and  Victoria  had  never  exchanged  a  word  on  the 
subject.  But  Lydia  was  aware  of  the  shrewd  guessing  of 
her  family,  and  she  did  not  suppose  for  one  moment  that 
Lady  Tatham  was  ignorant  of  anything  that  had  hap- 
pened. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  339 

Mrs.  Penfold,  scarcely  kept  in  order  by  Susy,  was  in 
much  agitation.  She  felt  terribly  guilty.  Lady  Tatham 
must  think  them  all  monsters  of  ingratitude,  and  she 
wondered  how  she  could  be  so  kind  as  to  come  and  see 
them  at  all.  She  became  at  last  so  incoherent  and  tear- 
ful that  Lydia  prepared  for  the  worst,  while  Susy,  the 
professed  psychologist,  revelled  in  the  prospect  of  new 
"notes." 

But  when  Victoria  arrived,  entering  the  cottage  draw- 
ing-room with  her  fine  mannish  face,  her  stately  bearing, 
and  her  shabby  clothes,  the  news  she  brought  seized  at 
once  on  Mrs.  Penfold's  wandering  wits,  and  for  the 
moment  held  them  fast.  For  Victoria,  whose  secret 
object  was  to  discover,  if  she  could,  any  facts  about 
Lydia's  doings  and  feelings  during  the  interval  of  separa- 
tion, that  might  throw  light  upon  her  Harry's  predica- 
ment, made  it  cunningly  appear  that  she  had  come 
expressly  to  tell  her  neighbours  of  the  startling  event 
which  was  now  agitating  Duddon,  as  it  would  soon  be 
agitating  the  countryside. 

Mrs.  Penfold  —  steeped  in  long  years  of  three-decker 
fiction  —  sat  entranced.  The  cast-off  and  ill-treated  wife 
returning  to  the  scene  of  her  misery  —  with  the  heiress !  — 
grown  up  —  and  beautiful:  she  saw  it  all;  she  threw  it  all 
into  the  moulds  dear  to  the  sentimentalist.  Victoria 
demurred  to  the  adjective  "beautiful ";  suggesting  "pretty 
—  when  we  have  fed  her!"  But  Mrs.  Penfold,  with  soft, 
shining  eyes,  already  beheld  the  mother  and  child  weeping 
at  the  knees  of  the  Ogre,  the  softening  of  the  Ogre's  heart, 
the  opening  of  the  grim  Tower  to  its  rightful  heiress,  the 
happy  ending,  the  marriage  gown  in  the  distance. 


340  THE  ]\IATING  OF  LYDIA 

"For  suppose!"  —  she  turned  gayly  to  her  daughters 
for  sympathy  —  "suppose  she  were  to  marry  Mr. 
Faversham!  And  then  Mr,  Melrose  can  have  a  stroke, 
and  everything  will  come  right!" 

Lydia  and  Susy  smiled  dutifully.  Victoria  sat  silent. 
Her  silence  checked  Mrs,  Penfold's  flow,  and  brought  her 
back,  bewildered  to  realities;  to  the  sad  remembrance  of 
Lydia's  astonishing  and  inscrutable  behaviour.  "Where- 
upon her  manner  and  conversation  became  so  dishevelled, 
in  her  effort  to  propitiate  Lady  Tatham  without  betraying 
either  herself  or  Lydia,  that  the  situation  grew  quickly 
unbearable. 

"May  I  see  your  garden?"  said  Victoria  abruptly  to 
Lydia.  Lydia  rose  with  alacrity,  opened  the  glass  door 
into  the  garden,  and  by  a  motion  of  the  lips  only 
visible  to  Susy  appealed  to  her  to  keep  their  mother 
indoors. 

A  misty  October  sun  reigned  over  the  garden.  The 
river  ran  sparkling  through  the  valley,  and  on  the  farther 
side  the  slopes  and  jutting  crags  of  the  Helvellyn  range 
showed  ghostly  through  the  sunlit  haze. 

A  few  absent-minded  praises  were  given  to  the  phloxes 
and  the  begonias.  Then  Victoria  said,  turning  a  pene- 
trating eye  on  Lydia: 

"You  heard  from  Harry  of  the  Melroses'  arrival.'*" 

"Yes  —  this  morning." 

Bright  colour  rushed  into  Lydia's  cheeks,  Tatham's 
letter  of  that  morning,  the  longest  perhaps  ever  written 
by  a  man  who  detested  letter-writing,  had  touched  her 
profoundly,  caused  her  an  agonized  searching  of  con- 
science.    Did  Lady  Tatham  blame  and  detest  her,'     Her 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  341 

manner  was  certainly  cool.  The  girl's  heart  swelled  as 
she  walked  along  beside  her  guest. 

"Everything  depends  on  Mr.  Faversham,"  said  Vic- 
toria. "You  are  a  friend  of  his.f*"  She  took  the  garden 
chair  that  Lydia  offered  her. 

"Yes;  we  have  all  come  to  know  him  pretty  well." 

Lydia's  face,  as  she  sat  on  the  grass  at  Lady  Tatham's 
feet,  looking  toward  the  fells,  was  scarcely  visible  to  her 
companion.  Victoria  could  only  admire  the  beauty  of  the 
girl's  hair,  as  the  wind  played  with  it,  and  the  grace  of  her 
young  form. 

"I  am  afraid  he  is  disappointing  all  his  friends,"  she 
said  gravely. 

"Is  it  his  fault.''"  exclaimed  Lydia.  "Mr.  Melrose 
must  be  mad!" 

"I  wonder  if  that  excuses  Mr.  Faversham?" 

"It's  horrible  for  him!"  said  Lydia  in  a  low,  smothered 
voice.     "He  wants  to  put  things  right.'*" 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Victoria's  tongue  to  say,  "Does  he 
too  write  to  you  every  day.'*"  but  she  refrained. 

"If  he  really  wants  to  put  things  right,  why  has  he  done 
nothing  all  these  seven  weeks.?"  she  asked  severely.  "I 
saw  Colonel  Barton  this  morning.  He  and  Mr.  Andover 
are  in  despair.  They  felt  such  confidence  in  Mr.  Faver- 
sham. The  state  of  the  Mainstairs  village  is  too  terrible! 
Everybody  is  crying  out.  The  Carlisle  papers  this  week 
are  full  of  it.  But  there  are  scores  of  other  things  almost 
as  bad.  Mr.  Faversham  rushes  about  —  here,  there,  and 
everywhere — but  with  no  result,  they  tell  us,  as  far  as  any 
of  the  real  grievances  are  concerned.  Mr.  Melrose  seems 
to   be   infatuated   about   him   personally;  will   give   him 


342  THE  I^IATING  OF  LYDIA 

everything  he  wants;  and  pays  no  attention  whatever  to 
his  advice.     And  you  know  the  latest  report?" 

"No."  Lydia's  face  was  bent  over  the  grass,  as  she 
tried  to  aid  a  humble-bee  which  was  lying  on  its  back. 

"It  is  generally  believed  that  Mr.  Melrose  has  made  him 
his  heir." 

Lydia  lifted  a  face  of  amazement,  at  first  touched 
strangely  with  relief.  "Then  —  surely  —  he  will  be  able 
to  do  what  he  wants!" 

"On  the  contrary.  His  silence  has  been  bought  — 
that's  what  people  say.  Mr.  Melrose  has  bribed  him  to 
do  his  work,  and  defend  his  iniquities." 

"Oh!  Is  that  fair?"  The  humble-bee  was  so  hastily 
poked  on  to  his  legs  that  he  tumbled  over  again. 

"Well,  now,  we  shall  test  him!"  said  Victoria  quietly. 
''We  shall  see  what  he  does  with  regard  to  Mrs.  Melrose 
and  her  daughter.  Harry  will  have  told  you  how  he  went 
to  him  yesterday.  We  had  a  telephone  message  this 
morning  to  say  that  a  letter  would  reach  us  this  afternoon 
from  Mr.  Faversham.  Harry  will  bring  it  on  here;  and  I 
asked  him  to  bring  Fehcia  Melrose  with  him  in  the  car. 
We  thought  you  would  be  interested  to  see  her." 

There  was  a  pause.     At  last  Lydia  said  slowly: 

"How  will  you  test  Mr.  Faversham.'*  I  don't  under- 
stand." 

"Unless  the  man  is  an  adventurer,"  said  Victoria, 
straightening  her  shoulders,  "he  will-,  of  course,  do  his 
best  to  put  this  girl  —  who  is  the  rightful  heiress  —  into 
her  proper  place.  What  business  has  he  with  Mr.  Mel- 
rose's estates.''" 

Lady  Tatham  spoke  with  imperious  energy. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  343 

Lydia's  eyes  showed  an  almost  equal  animation. 

"May  he  not  share  with  her?     Aren't  they  immense?" 

"At  present  he  takes  everything  —  so  they  say.  It 
looks  ugly.  A  complete  stranger  —  worming  himself  in  a 
few  weeks  or  months  into  an  old  man's  confidence  —  and 
carrying  off  the  inlieritance  from  a  pair  of  helpless  women ! 
And  making  himself  meanwhile  the  tool  of  a  tyrant !  — 
aiding  and  abetting  him  in  all  his  oppressions!" 

"Oh,  Lady  Tatham!  no,  no!"  cried  Lydia  —  the  cry 
seemed  wrung  from  her  —  "I  —  we  —  have  only  known 
Mr.  Faversham  this  short  time  —  but  how  can  one 
believe " 

She  paused,  her  eyes  under  their  vividly  marked  eye- 
brows painfully  searching  the  face  of  her  companion. 

Victoria  said  to  herself,  "Heavens!  —  she  is  in  love 
with  him  —  and  she  is  letting  Harry  sit  up  at  nights  to 
write  to  her!" 

Her  mother's  heart  beat  fast  with  anger.  But  she  held 
herself  in  hand. 

"  Well,  as  I  have  said,  we  shall  soon  be  able  to  test  him," 
she  repeated,  coldly;  "we  shall  soon  know  what  to  think. 
His  letter  will  show  whether  he  is  a  man  with  feeling  and 
conscience  —  a  gentleman  —  or  an  adventurer!" 

There  was  silence.  Lydia  was  thinking  passionately  of 
Mainstairs  and  of  the  deep  tones  of  a  man's  voice  —  "If 
you  condemn  and  misunderstand  me  —  then  indeed  I 
shall  lose  heart!" 

A  humming  sound  could  be  heard  in  the  far  distance. 

"Here  they  are,"  said  Lady  Tatham  rising.  Victoria's 
half-masculine  beauty  had  never  been  so  formidable  as  it 
was  this  afternoon      Deep  in  her  heart,  she  carried  both 


344  THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA 

pity  for  Harry,  and  scorn  for  this  foolish  girl  walking 
beside  her,  who  could  not  recognize  her  good  fortune  when 
it  cried  out  to  her. 

They  hastened  back  to  the  drawing-room;  and  at  the 
same  moment  Tatham  and  Felicia  walked  in. 

Fehcia  advanced  with  perfect  self-command,  her  small 
face  flushed  with  pink  by  the  motion  of  the  car.  In 
addition  to  the  blue  frock,  Victoria's  maid  had  now  pro- 
vided her  with  a  short  cape  of  black  silk,  and  a  wide 
straw  hat,  to  which  the  girl  herself  had  given  a  kind  of 
tilt,  a  touch  of  audacity,  in  keeping  with  all  the  rest  of 
her  personality. 

As  she  came  in,  she  glanced  round  the  room  with  her 
uncannily  large  eyes  —  her  mother's  eyes  —  taking  in  all 
the  company.  She  dropped  a  little  curtsey  to  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold,  in  whom  the  excitement  of  this  sudden  appearance 
of  Melrose's  daughter  had  produced  sheer  and  simple 
dumbness.  She  allowed  her  hand  to  be  shaken  by  Lydia 
and  Susy,  looking  sharply  at  the  former;  while  Susy 
looked  sharply  at  her.  Then  she  subsided  into  a  corner 
by  Lady  Tatham.  It  was  evident  that  she  regarded  her- 
self as  under  that  lady's  particular  protection. 

"Well?"  said  Lady  Tatham  in  an  eager  aside  to  her  son. 
She  read  his  aspect  as  that  of  a  man  preoccupied. 

Tatham  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  glance  at 
Felicia.  Victoria  whispered  to  Lydia:  "Will  you  tell 
your  mother  I  want  to  speak  a  few  words  to  Harry  on 
business.'*" 

Mother  and  son  passed  into  the  garden  together. 

"A  declaration  of  war!"  said  Tatham,  as  he  handed  a 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  345 

letter  to  her.     "I  propose  to  instruct  our  solicitors  at 
once." 

Victoria  read  hastily.  The  writing  was  Faversham's. 
But  the  mind  expressed  was  Melrose's.  Victoria  read  him 
in  every  line.  She  believed  the  letter  to  have  been  simply 
dictated. 

"Dear  Lord  Tatham: 

"I  have  laid  Mrs.  Melrose's  statement  before  Mr. 
Melrose.  I  regret  to  say  that  he  sees  no  cause  to  modify 
the  arrangements  made  years  ago  with  regard  to  his  wife, 
except  that,  in  consideration  of  the  fact  that  Miss  Melrose 
is  now  grown  up,  he  will  add  £20  yearly  to  Mrs.  Melrose's 
allowance,  making  it  £100  a  year.  Provision  will  be  made 
for  the  continuance  of  this  allowance  to  Mrs.  Melrose  till 
her  death,  and  afterward  to  the  daughter  for  her  life- 
time; on  condition  that  Mr.  Melrose  is  not  further  molested 
in  any  way.  Otherwise  Mr.  Melrose  acknowledges  and 
will  acknowledge  no  claim  upon  him  whatever. 

'T  am  to  add  that  if  Mrs.  Melrose  is  in  difficulties,  it  is 
entirely  owing  to  the  dishonest  rapacity  of  her  family 
who  have  been  living  upon  her.  Mr.  Melrose  is  well 
acquainted  with  both  the  past  and  recent  history  of  Mr. 
Robert  Smeatli,  who  made  a  tool  of  Mrs.  Melrose  in  the 
matter  of  a  disgraceful  theft  of  a  valuable  bronze  from  Mr. 
Melrose's  collection " 

"The  Hermes!"  cried  Victoria.  "She  has  never  said 
one  word  to  me  about  it." 

"Miss  Melrose  has  been  telling  me  the  story,"  said 
Tatham,  smiling  at  the  recollection.  "By  George,  that's 
a  rum  little  girl!  She  glories  in  it.  But  she  says  her 
mother  has  been  consumed  with  remorse  ever  since.  Go 
on." 


346  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"And  if  any  attempt  is  made  to  blackmail  or  coerce 
Mr.  Melrose,  he  will  be  obliged,  much  against  his  will,  to 
draw  the  attention  of  the  Italian  police  to  certain  matters 
relating  to  Mr.  Smeath,  of  which  he  has  the  evidence  in 
his  possession.  He  warns  Mrs.  Melrose  that  her  father's 
career  cannot  possibly  bear  examination. 

"I  regret  that  my  reply  cannot  be  more  satisfactory  to 
you. 

"Believe  me, 

"Yours  faithfully, 

"Claude  Faversham." 

Victoria  had  turned  pale. 

"How  abominable!  Why,  her  father  is  bedridden  and 
dying!" 

"So  I  told  Faversham  —  like  a  fool.  For  it  only  — 
apparently  —  gives  Melrose  a  greater  power  of  putting  on 
the  screw.  Well,  now  look  here  —  here's  something 
€lse."  He  drew  another  letter  from  his  pocket,  and 
handed  it  to  her. 

Victoria  unfolded  a  second  note  from  Faversham  — 
marked  "confidential,"  and  written  in  evident  agitation. 

"My  Dear  Tatham: 

"I  am  powerless.  Let  me  implore  you  to  keep  Mrs. 
Melrose  quiet!  Privately  a  great  deal  may  be  done  for 
her.  If  she  will  only  trust  herself  to  me,  in  my  private 
capacity,  I  will  see  that  she  is  properly  supplied  for  the 
future.  But  she  will  simply  bring  disaster  on  herself  if 
she  attempts  to  force  Melrose.  She  —  and  you  —  know 
what  he  is.  I  beg  of  you  to  be  guided  —  and  to  guide 
her  —  as  I  advise. " 

"An  attempt,  you  see,  to  buy  us  off,"  said  Tatham 
scornfully.     "I  propose  to  take  the  night  train  from  Pen- 


THE  ]VL\TING  OF  LYDIA  347 

garth  this  evening,  and  consult  old  Fledhow  to-morrow 
morning." 

"Old  Fledhow,"  alias  James  Morton  Fledhow,  solicitor, 
head  of  one  of  that  small  group  of  firms  which,  between 
them,  have  the  great  estates  of  England  in  their  pigeon- 
holes, had  been  the  legal  adviser  of  the  Tatham  family  for 
two  generations.  Precipitation  is  not  the  badge  of  his 
tribe;  but  Victoria  threw  herself  upon  this  very  natural 
and  youthful  impulse,  before  even  it  could  reach  "old 
Fledhow." 

"My  dear  Harry,  be  cautious!  What  did  Mrs.  Melrose 
say?     Of  course  you  showed  her  the  letter.'*" 

Tatham  candidly  admitted  that  he  hardly  knew  what 
Mrs.  Melrose  had  said.  The  letter  had  thrown  her  into  a 
great  state  of  agitation,  and  she  had  cried  a  good  deal. 
"Poor  papa,  poor  papa!"  pronounced  with  the  accent  on 
the  first  syllable,  seemed  to  have  been  all  that  she  had 
been  able  to  articulate. 

"You  know,  Harry,  there  may  be  a  great  deal  in  it?" 
Victoria's  countenance  showed  her  doubts. 

"In  the  threat  about  her  father?  Pure  bluff,  mother! 
—  absolute  bluff !  As  for  the  bronze  —  a  wife  can't  steal 
from  her  husband.  And  under  these  circumstances !  ■ — \ 
should  like  to  see  a  British  jury  that  would  touch  her!" 

"But  she  admits  that  half  the  proceeds  went  to  her 
father." 

"Twenty  years  ago?"  Tatham's  shrug  was  magnifi- 
cent.    "I  tell  you  he'll  get  no  change  out  of  that!" 

"But  he  hints  at  other  things?" 

"Bluff  again!     Why  the  man's  helpless  in  his  bed!" 

"I  suppose  even  dying  can  be  made  more  unpleasant 


348  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

by  the  police,"  said  Victoria.  She  pondered,  walking 
thoughtfully  beside  a  rather  thwarted  and  impatient 
youth,  eager  to  play  the  champion  of  the  distressed  in 
his  own  way;  and  that,  possibly,  from  more  motives  than 
one.     Suddenly  her  face  cleared. 

"I  will  go  myself!"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  her 
son's  arm. 

"Mother!" 

"Yes!  I'll  go  myself.  Leave  it  to  me,  Harry.  I  will 
drive  over  to  Threlfall  to-morrow  evening  —  quite  alone 
and  without  notice.  I  had  some  influence  with  him 
once,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground. 

Tatham  protested  warmly.  The  smallest  allusion  to 
any  early  relation  between  his  mother  and  Melrose  was 
almost  intolerable  to  him.  But  Lady  Tatham  fought  for 
her  idea.  She  pointed  out  again  that  Melrose  might  very 
well  have  some  information  that  could  be  used  with 
ghastly  effect  even  upon  a  dying  man;  that  Netta  was 
much  attached  to  her  father,  and  would  probably  not 
make  up  her  mind  to  any  drastic  step  whatever  in  face 
of  Melrose's  threats. 

"I  don't  so  much  care  about  Mrs.  Melrose,"  exclaimed 
Tatham.  "We  can  give  her  money,  and  make  her  com- 
fortable, if  it  comes  to  that.  But  it's  the  girl  —  and  the 
hideous  injustice  of  that  fellow  there  —  that  Faversham  — 
ousting  her  from  her  rights  —  getting  the  old  man  into  his 
power  —  boning  his  property  —  and  then  ^\Titing  hypo- 
critical notes  like  that!" 

He  stood  before  her,  flushed  and  excited;  a  broad- 
shouldered  avenger  of  the  sex,  such  as  any  distressed 
maiden  might  have  been  glad  to  light  upon.     But  again 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  349 

Victoria  was  aware  that  the  case  was  not  as  simple  as  it 
sounded.  However,  she  was  no  less  angry  than  he. 
Mother  and  son  were  on  the  brink  of  making  common 
cause  against  a  grasping  impostor;  who  was  not  to  be 
allowed  to  go  off  —  either  with  money  that  did  not  belong 
to  him,  or  with  angelic  sympathies  that  still  less  belonged 
to  him.  Meanwhile  on  this  point,  whatever  may  have 
been  in  their  minds,  they  said  on  this  occasion  not  a 
word.  Victoria  pressed  her  plan.  And  in  the  end 
Tatham  most  reluctantly  consented  that  she  should 
endeavour  to  force  a  surprise  interview  with  Melrose  the 
following  day. 

They  returned  to  the  little  drawing-room  where  Felicia 
Melrose,  it  seemed,  had  been  giving  the  Penfolds  a 
difficult  half  hour.  For  as  soon  as  the  Tathams  had 
stepped  into  the  garden,  she  had  become  entirely  mono- 
syllabic; after  a  drive  from  Duddon  at  Harry  Tatham's 
side,  during  which,  greatly  to  her  host's  surprise,  she  had 
suddenly  and  unexpectedly  found  her  tongue,  talking,  in  a 
torrent  of  questions,  all  the  way,  insatiably. 

Mrs.  Penfold,  on  her  side,  could  do  little  but  stare  at 
"the  heiress  of  Threlfall."  Susy,  studying  her  with  shin- 
ing eyes,  tried  to  make  her  talk,  to  little  purpose. 

But  Lydia  in  particular  could  get  nothing  out  of  her.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  Felicia  looked  at  her  as  though  she 
disliked  her.  And  every  now  and  then  the  small  stranger 
would  try  to  see  herself  in  the  only  mirror  that  the  cottage 
drawing-room  afforded;  lengthening  out  her  long,  thin 
neck,  and  turning  her  curly  head  stealthily  from  side  to 
side  like  a  swan  preening.  Once,  when  she  thought  no 
one  was  observing  her,  she  took  a  carnation  from  a  vase 


350  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

near  her  —  it  had  been  sent  over  from  Duddon  that 
morning!  —  and  put  it  in  her  dress.  And  the  next 
moment,  having  pulled  off  her  glove,  she  looked  with 
annoyance  at  her  own  roughened  hand,  and  then  at 
Lydia's  delicate  fingers  playing  with  a  paper-knife. 
Prowning,  she  hastily  slipped  her  glove  on  again. 

As  soon  as  Tatham  and  his  mother  reappeared,  she 
jumped  up  with  alacrity,  a  smile  breaking  with  sudden 
and  sparkled  beauty  on  her  pinched  face,  and  went  to 
stand  by  Victoria's  side,  looking  up  at  her  with  eager 
docility  and  admiration. 

Victoria,  however,  left  her,  in  order  to  draw  Lydia  into 
a  corner  beside  a  farther  window. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  Harry  has  received  a  very  unsatis- 
factory letter  from  Mr.  Faversham." 

"May  I  ask  him  about  it.f^" 

"He  wants  to  tell  you.  I  am  carrying  Miss  Melrose 
back  with  me.     But  Harry  will  stay." 

Words  which  cost  Victoria  a  good  deal.  If  what  she 
now  believed  was  the  truth,  how  monstrous  that  her 
Harry  should  be  kept  dangling  here!  Her  pride  was  all 
on  edge.  But  Harry  ruled  her.  She  could  make  no  move 
till  his  eyes  too  were  opened. 

Meanwhile,  on  all  counts,  Faversham  was  the  enemy. 
To  that  chasse  first  and  foremost,  Victoria  vowed  herself. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  her?"  said  Tatham,  good- 
humouredly,  as  he  raised  his  hat  to  Felicia  and  his  mother 
disappearing  in  the  car.  "She's  more  alive  to-day;  but 
you  can  see  she  has  been  literally  starved.  That  brute 
Melrose!" 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  351 

Lydia  made  some  half  audible  reply,  and  with  a  view  to 
prolonging  his  tete-a-tete  with  her,  he  led  her  strolling  along 
the  road,  through  a  golden  dusk,  touched  with  moon  rise. 
She  followed,  but  all  her  pleasant  self-confidence  with 
regard  to  him  was  gone;  she  walked  beside  him,  miserable 
and  self-condemned;  a  theorist  defeated  by  the  incalcu- 
lable forces  of  things.  How  to  begin  with  him  —  what 
line  to  take  —  how  to  undo  her  own  work  —  she  did  not 
know;  her  mind  was  in  confusion. 

As  for  him,  he  was  no  sooner  alone  vdi\i  her  than  bliss 
descended  on  him.  He  forgot  Faversham  and  the  Mel- 
roses.  He  only  wished  to  talk  to  her,  and  of  himself. 
Surely,  so  much,  "friendship"  allowed. 

He  began,  accordingly,  to  comment  eagerly  on  her 
letters  to  him,  and  his  to  her,  explaining  this,  questioning 
that.  Every  word  showed  her  afresh  that  her  letters  had 
been  the  landmarks  of  his  Scotch  weeks,  the  chief  events 
of  his  summer;  and  every  word  quickened  a  new  remorse. 
At  last  she  could  bear  it  no  longer.  She  broke  abruptly 
on  his  talk. 

"Mayn't  I  know  what's  happened  at  Threlfall.^  Your 
mother  told  me  —  you  had  heard." 

He  pulled  himself  together,  while  many  things  he  would 
rather  have  forgotten  rushed  back  upon  him. 

"We're  no  forrader!"  he  said  impatiently.  "I  don't 
believe  we  shall  get  a  brass  farthing  out  of  JVIelrose,  if 
you  ask  me;  at  least  without  going  to  law  and  making 
a  scandal;  partly  because  he's  Melrose,  and  that  sort 
—  sooner  die  than  climb  down,  and  the  rest  of  it  —  but 
mostly " 

He  broke  off. 


352  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Mostly?"  repeated  Lydia. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I'd  better  go  on.  Favershani's 
a  friend  of  yours." 

Tatham  looked  down  upon  her,  his  blunt  features 
reddening. 

"Not  so  much  a  friend  that  I  can't  hear  the  truth  about 
him,"  said  Lydia,  smiling  rather  faintly.  "What  do  you 
accuse  him  oi?" 

He  hesitated  a  moment;  then  the  inner  heat  gathered, 
and  flashed  out.  Wasn't  it  best  to  be  frank.^^  —  best  for 
her,  best  for  himself.? 

"Don't  you  think  it  looks  pretty  black?"  he  asked  her, 
breathing  quick;  "there  he  is,  getting  round  an  old  man, 
and  plotting  for  money  he's  no  right  to!  Wouldn't  you 
have  thought  that  any  decent  fellow  would  sooner  break 
stones  than  take  the  money  that  ought  to  have  been 
that  girl's  —  that  at  least  he'd  have  said  to  Melrose 
'provide  for  her  first  —  your  own  child  —  and  then  do 
what  you  like  for  me.'  Wouldn't  that  have  been  the 
honest  thing  to  do?  But  I  went  to  him  yesterday  —  told 
him  the  story  —  he  promised  to  look  into  it  —  and  to  use 
his  influence.  W^e  sent  him  a  statement  in  proper  form,  a 
few  hours  later.  It's  horrible  what  those  two  have 
suffered !  And  then,  to-day  —  it's  too  dark  for  you  to 
read  his  precious  letter,  but  if  you  really  don't  mind,  I'll 
tell  you  the  gist  of  it." 

He  summarized  it  —  quite  fairly  —  yet  with  a  contempt 
he  did  not  try  to  conceal.  The  girl  at  his  side,  muflSed  in  a 
blue  cloak,  with  a  dark  hood  framing  the  pale  gold  of  the 
hair,  and  the  delicate  curves  of  the  face,  listened  in  silence. 
At  the  end  she  said: 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  353 

"Tell  me  on  what  grounds  you  think  Mr.  Melrose  has 
left  his  property  to  Mr.  Faversham.'^" 

"Everybody  believes  it!  My  Carlisle  lawyers  whom 
I  saw  this  morning  are  convinced  of  it.  Melrose  is  said 
to  have  spoken  quite  frankly  about  it  to  many  persons." 

"Not  very  strong  evidence  on  which  to  condemn  a  man 
so  utterly  as  you  condemn  him,"  said  Lydia,  with  sudden 
emotion.  "Think  of  the  difficulty  of  his  position!  May 
he  not  be  honestly  trying  to  steer  his  vi'ay?  And  may  not 
we  all  be  doing  our  best  to  make  his  task  impossible, 
putting  the  worst  construction  —  the  very  worst !  —  on 
everything  he  does.'^" 

There  was  silence  a  moment.  Tatham  and  Lydia  were 
looking  into  each  other's  faces;  the  girl's  soul,  wounded 
and  fluttering,  was  in  her  eyes.  Tatham  felt  a  sudden  and 
choking  sense  of  catastrophe.  Their  house  of  cards  had 
fallen  about  them,  and  his  stubborn  hopes  with  it.  She, 
with  her  high  standards,  could  not  possibly  defend  — 
could  not  possibly  plead  —  for  a  man  who  was  behaving  so 
shabbily,  so  dishonourably,  except  —  for  one  reason !  He 
leapt  indignantly  at  certainty;  although  it  was  a  certainty 
that  tortured  him. 

"There  is  evidence  enough!"  he  said,  in  a  changed 
voice.  "I  don  t  understand  how  you  can  stick  up  for 
him." 

"I  don't,"  she  said  sadly,  "not  if  it's  true.  But  I  don't 
want  to  believe  it.  Why  should  one  want  to  beheve  the 
the  worst,  you  and  I,  about  anybody?" 

Tatham  kept  an  explosive  silence  for  a  moment,  and 
then  broke  out  hoarsely: 

"Do  you  remember,  we  promised  we'd  be  real  friends? 


354  THE  JMATING  OF  LYDIA 

—  we'd  be  really  frank  with  each  other?  I've  kept  my 
bargain.  Are  you  keeping  it?  Isn't  there  something  you 
haven't  told  me!  —  something  I  ought  to  know?" 

"  No,  nothing ! "  cried  Lydia,  with  sudden  energy.  "  You 
misunderstand  —  you  offend  me." 

She  drew  her  breath  quickly.  There  were  angry  tears 
in  her  eyes,  hidden  by  the  hood. 

A  gust  of  passion  swept  through  Tatham,  revealing  his 
manhood  to  itself.  He  stopped,  caught  her  hands,  and 
held  them  fiercely,  imprisoned  against  his  breast.  She 
must  needs  look  up  at  him;  male  strength  compelled; 
they  stood  motionless  a  few  seconds  under  the  shadows 
of  the  trees. 

"If  there  is  nothing  —  ii  I  do  misunderstand  —  if  I'm 
vv-rong  in  what  I  think  —  for  God's  sake  listen  to  me  — 
give  me  back  my  promise.     I  can't  —  I  can't  keep  it!" 

He  stooped  and  kissed  the  fingers  he  held,  once,  twice, 
repeatedly;  then  turned  away,  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand. 

Lydia  said,  with  a  little  moan : 

"Oh,  Harry!  —  we've  broken  the  spell." 

Tatham  recovered  himself  with  difficulty. 

"  Can't  you  —  can't  you  ever  care  for  me?  "  The  voice 
was  low,  the  eyes  still  hidden. 

"We  oughtn't  to  have  been  writing  and  meeting!" 
cried  Lydia,  in  despair.  "It  was  foolish,  wrong!  I  see  it 
now.     I  ask  your  pardon.     We  must  say  good-bye,  Harry 

—  and  —  oh!  —  oh!  —  I'm  so  sorry  I  let  you " 

Her  voice  died  away. 

In  the  distance  of  the  lane,  a  labourer  emerged  whistling 
from  a  gate,  with  his  dog.     Tatham's  hands  dropped  to 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  355 

his  sides;  they  walked  on  together  as  before.  The  man 
passed  them  with  a  cheerful  good-night. 

Tatham  spoke  slowly. 

"Yes  —  perhaps  —  we'd  better  not  meet.  I  can't  — 
control  myself.     And  I  should  go  on  offending  you." 

A  chasm  seemed  to  have  opened  between  them.  They 
turned  and  walked  back  to  the  gate  of  the  cottage. 
When  they  reached  it,  Tatham  crushed  her  hand  again 
in  his. 

"  Good-bye !  If  ever  I  can  do  anything  to  serve  you  — 
let  me  know!  Good-bye!  —  dearest  —  dearest  Lydia." 
His  voice  sank  and  lingered  on  the  name.  The  lamp 
at  the  gate  showed  him  that  her  eyes  were  swimming  in 
tears. 

"You'll  forgive  me?"  she  said,  imploringly. 

He  attempted  a  laugh,  which  ended  in  a  sound  of  pain. 
Then  he  lifted  her  hand  again,  kissed  it,  and  was  gone; 
running  —  head  down  —  through  the  dimness  of  the  lane. 

Meanwhile,  wrapped  in  the  warm  furs  of  the  motor, 
Felicia  and  Lady  Tatham  sped  toward  Duddon. 

Felicia  was  impenetrably  silent  at  first;  and  Victoria, 
who  never  found  it  easy  to  adapt  herself  to  the  young, 
made  no  effort  to  rouse  her.  Occasionally  some  passing 
light  showed  her  the  girl's  pallid  profile  —  slightly  frown- 
ing brow,  and  pinched  lips  —  against  the  dark  lining  of  the 
car.  And  once  or  twice  as  she  saw  her  thus,  she  was 
startled  by  the  likeness  to  Melrose. 

When  they  were  halfway  home,  a  thin,  high  voice 
struck  into  the  silence,  deliberately  clear: 

"Who  is  the  Signorina  Penfold?" 


356  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Her  mother  is  a  widow.  They  have  Hved  here  about 
two  years." 

"She  is  not  pretty.  She  is  too  pale.  I  do  not  hke 
that  hair,"  said  Fehcia,  viciously. 

Victoria  could  not  help  an  unseen  smile. 

"Everybody  here  thinks  her  pretty.  She  is  very 
clever,  and  a  beautiful  artist,"  she  said,  with  slight 
severity. 

The  gesture  beside  her  was  scarcely  discernible.  But 
Victoria  thought  it  was  a  toss  of  the  head. 

"Everybody  in  Italy  can  paint.  It  is  as  common  — 
as  common  as  lizards!  There  are  dozens  of  people  in 
Lucca  who  can  paint  —  a  whole  villa  —  ceilings,  walls  — 
what  you  like.  Nobody  thinks  anything  at  all  about 
them.  But  Italian  girls  are  very  clever  also !  There  were 
two  girls  in  Lucca  —  Marchesine  —  the  best  family  in 
Lucca.  They  got  all  the  prizes  at  the  Liceo,  and  then 
they  went  to  Pisa  to  the  University;  and  one  of  them  was  a 
Doctor  of  Law;  and  when  they  came  home,  all  the  street 
in  which  they  lived  and  their  palazzo  were  lit  up.  And 
they  were  very  pretty  too ! " 

"And  you  —  did  you  go  to  the  Liceo,  Felicia.'*" 

"No!  I  had  never  any  education  —  none,  none,  none! 
But  I  could  get  it,  if  I  wanted,"  said  the  voice,  defiantly. 

"Of  course  you  could.  I  have  asked  your  mother  to 
stay  with  us  till  Christmas.  You  might  get  some  lessons 
in  Carlisle.     We  could  send  you  in." 

Felicia,  however,  made  no  response  to  this  at  all,  and 
Victoria  felt  that  her  proposal  had  fallen  flat.  But,  after 
a  minute  or  two,  she  heard: 

"I  should  like  —  to  learn  —  to  ride!'* 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  357 

Much  emphasis  on  the  hist  word;  accompanied  by 
nodding  of  the  fantastic  Httle  head. 

"Well,  we  shall  see!"  laughed  Victoria,  indulgently. 

"And  then  —  I  would  go  out  —  with  Lord  Tatham!" 
said  Felicia.  "Oh,  but  he  is  too  divine  on  horseback  I 
There  were  some  Italian  cavalry  officers  at  Lucca.  I 
used  to  run  to  the  window  every  time  to  see  them  pass  by. 
But  he  is  nobler  —  he  is  handsomer!" 

\'ictoria,  taken  by  surprise,  wondered  if  it  would  not 
be  well  to  administer  a  little  snubbing  to  compliments  so 
unabashed.     She  tried.     But  Felicia  interrupted  her: 

"  Do  you  not  admire  him  —  your  son.^ "  she  said  eagerly, 
slipping  up  close  to  Victoria.  "Can  he  jump  and  swim 
rivers  —  on  his  horse  —  and  come  down  mountains  —  on 
his  haunches  —  like  our  cavalleria?     I  am  certain  he  can ! " 

"He  can  do  most  things  on  a  horse.  When  the  hunting 
begins,  you  will  see,"  said  Victoria,  smiling  in  spite  of 
herself. 

"Tell  me,  please,  what  is  the  hunting?  And  about 
the  shooting,  too.  Lord  Tatham  told  me  —  this  after- 
noon —  some  ladies  shoot.  Oh,  but  I  will  learn  to  shoot! 
I  swear  it  —  yes!     Now  tell  me!" 

Thus  attacked,  the  formidable  \'ictoria  capitulated. 
She  was  soon  in  the  midst  of  stories  of  her  Harry,  from 
his  first  pony  upward.  And  she  had  not  gone  far  before 
a  tiny  hand  slipped  itself  into  hers  and  nestled  there; 
moving  and  quivering  occasionally,  like  a  wild  bird 
voluntarily  tame.  And  when  the  drive  ended,  Victoria 
was  quite  sorry  to  lose  its  lithe  softness. 


XVI 

VICTORIA  very  soon  perceived  that  a  crisis  had 
come  and  gone.  She  had  been  accustomed  for  a 
while  before  they  went  to  Scotland  to  send  about 
•once  a  week  a  basket  of  flowers  and  fruit  from  the  famous 
gardens  of  Duddon,  with  her  "kind  regards"  to  Mrs. 
Penfold.  The  basket  was  generally  brought  into  the  hall, 
and  Tatham  would  slip  into  it  the  new  books  or  magazines 
that  seemed  to  him  likely  to  attract  the  cottage  party. 
He  had  always  taken  a  particular  pleasure  in  the  despatch 
of  the  basket,  and  in  the  contrivance  of  some  new  offering 
of  which  it  might  be  the  bearer.  Victoria,  on  the  other 
hand,  though  usually  a  lavish  giver,  had  taken  but  a 
grudging  part  in  the  business,  and  merely  to  please  her 
son. 

On  the  day  following  the  visit  to  the  cottage,  the  basket, 
in  obedience  to  a  standing  order,  lay  in  the  hall  as  usual, 
heaped  with  a  gorgeous  mass  of  the  earliest  chrj^san- 
themums.  Victoria  observed  it  —  with  an  unfriendly 
eye  —  as  she  passed  through  the  hall  on  her  way  to 
breakfast. 

Harry  came  up  behind  her,  and  she  turned  to  give  him 
her  morning  kiss. 

"Please  don't  send  it,"  he  said  abruptly,  pointing  to  the 
basket.     "It  wouldn't  be  welcome." 

She  started,  but  made  no  reply.     They  went  into  break- 

358 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  359 

fast.     Victoria  gave  the  butler  directions  that  the  flowers 
should  be  sent  to  the  Rectory. 

After  breakfast  she  followed  Tatham  into  the  librarj^ 
He  stood  silent  a  while  by  the  window,  looking  out,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets;  she  beside  him,  leaning  her  head 
against  his  arm. 

"  It's  all  over,"  he  said  at  last;  "we  decided  it  last  night." 

"\Miat's  over,  dear  old  boy.^" 

"I  broke  our  compact  —  I  couldn't  help  it  —  and  we 
saw  it  couldn't  go  on." 

"You  —  asked  her  again?" 

He  nodded.  "It's  no  good.  And  now  it  only  worries 
her  that  I  should  hang  about.  We  can't  —  even  be 
friends.     It's  all  my  fault." 

"You  poor  darling!"  cried  his  mother  indignantly. 
"She  has  played  with  you  abominably." 

He  flushed  with  anger. 

"You  mustn't  say  that  —  you  mustn't  think  it,  mother! 
All  these  weeks  have  been  —  to  the  good.  They  haven't 
been  the  real  thing.  But  I  shall  always  have  them  —  to 
remember.     Now  it's  done  with." 

Silence  fell  upon  them  again,  while  their  minds  went 
back  over  the  history  of  the  preceding  six  months. 
Victoria  felt  very  bitter.  And  so,  apparently,  in  his  own 
way,  did  he.  For  he  presently  said,  with  a  vehemence 
which  startled  her: 

"I'd  sooner  be  shot  than  see  her  marry  that  fellow!" 

"Ah!  you  suspect  that?" 

"It  looks  like  it,"  he  said  reluctantly.  "And  unless 
I'm  much  mistaken,  he's  a  mean  cad!  But  —  for  her 
sake  —  we'll  make  sure  —  we'll  give  him  every  chance." 


360  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"It  is  of  course  possible,"  said  Victoria  grudgingly, 
"that  he  has  honestly  tried  to  do  something  for  the 
Melroses." 

"I  daresay!"  said  Tatham,  with  a  shrug. 

"And  it  is  possible  also  that  if  he  is  the  heir,  he  means 
to  make  it  up  to  Felicia,  when  he  comes  into  it  all." 

Tatham  laughed. 

"To  throw  her  a  spare  bone.''  Very  likely.  But  how 
are  we  to  know  that  Melrose  won't  bind  him  by  all  sorts  of 
restrictions. f'  A  vindictive  old  villain  like  that  will  do 
anything.  Then  we  shall  have  Faversham  calmly  saying, 
*  Very  sorry  I  can't  oblige  you !  But  if  I  modify  the  terms 
of  the  will  in  your  favour,  I  forfeit  the  estates.'  Besides 
isn't  it  monstrous  —  damnable  —  that  Melrose's  daughter 
should  owe  to  chanty  —  the  charity  of  a  fellow  who  had 
never  heard  of  Melrose  or  Threlfall  six  months  ago  — 
what  is  her  right  —  her  plain  and  simple  right?" 

Victoria  agreed.  All  these  ancestral  ideas  of  family 
maintenance,  and  the  practical  rights  dependent  on  family 
ties,  which  were  implied  in  Harry's  attitude,  were  just  as 
real  to  her  as  to  his  simpler  mind.  Yet  she  knew  very 
well  that  Netta  and  Felicia  Melrose  were  fast  becoming  to 
him  the  mere  symbols  and  counters  of  a  struggle  that 
affected  him  more  intimately,  more  profoundly  than  any 
crusading  effort  for  the  legal  and  moral  rights  of  a  couple 
of  strangers  could  possibly  have  done. 

Lydia  had  broken  with  him,  and  his  hopes  were  dashed. 
Wliy.''  Because  another  man  had  come  upon  the  scene 
whose  influence  upon  her  was  clear  —  disastrously  clear. 

"If  he  were  a  decent  fellow  —  I'd  go  out  of  her  life  — 
without  a  word.     But  he's  a  thievish  intriguer!  —  and  I 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  361 

don't  intend  to  hold  my  hand  till  I've  brought  him  out  in 
his  true  colours  before  her  and  the  world.  Then  —  if 
she  chooses  —  with  her  eyes  open  —  let  her  take  him!" 
It  was  thus  his  mother  imagined  his  thought,  and  she  was 
not  far  from  the  truth.  And  meanwhile  the  sombre 
changes  in  the  boyish  face  made  her  own  heart  sore.  For 
they  told  of  an  ill  heat  of  blood,  and  an  embittered  soul. 

At  luncheon  he  sat  depressed  and  silent,  doing  his  duty 
with  an  effort  to  his  mother's  guests.  Netta  also  was  in 
the  depths.  She  had  lost  the  power  of  rapid  recuperation 
that  youth  gave  to  Felicia,  and  in  spite  of  the  comforts  of 
Threlfall  her  aspect  was  scarcely  less  deplorable  than 
when  she  arrived.  Moreover  she  had  cried  much  since 
the  delivery  of  the  Threlfall  letter  the  day  before.  Her 
eyes  were  red,  and  her  small  face  disfigured.  Felicia,  on 
the  other  hand,  sat  with  her  nose  in  the  air,  evidently 
despising  her  mother's  tears,  and  as  sharply  observant  as 
ever  of  the  sights  about  her  —  the  quietly  moving  ser- 
vants, the  flowers,  and  silver,  the  strange,  nice  things  to 
eat.  Tatham,  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts,  did  not  per- 
ceive how,  in  addition,  she  watched  the  master  of  the 
house;  Victoria  was  uncomfortably  aware  of  it. 

After  luncheon  Tatham  took  up  a  Bradshaw  lying  on 
a  table  in  the  panelled  hall,  where  they  generally  drank 
coffee,  and  looked  up  the  night  mail  to  Euston. 

"I  shall  catch  it  at  Carlisle,"  he  said  to  his  mother,  book 

in  hand.     "There  will  be  time  to  hear  your  report  before 

I?? 
go- 
She  nodded.     Her  own  intention  was  to  start  at  dusk 
for  Threlfall. 

"Why  are  you  going  away.'"  said  Felicia  suddenly. 


362  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

He  turned  to  her  courteously: 

"To  try  to  straighten  your  affairs!" 

"That  won't  do  us  any  good  —  to  go  away."  Her  voice 
was  shrill,  her  black  eyes  frowTied.  "We  shan't  know 
what  to  do  —  by  ourselves." 

•  "And  it's  precisely  because  I  also  don't  know  exactly 
what  to  do  next,  that  I'm  going  to  town.  We  must 
get  some  advice  —  from  the  lawyers." 

"I  hate  la^\yers!"  The  girl  flushed  angrily.  "I  went 
to  one  in  Lucca  once  —  we  wanted  a  paper  dra\\Ti  up. 
Mamma  was  ill.    I  had  to  go  by  myself.    He  was  a  brute ! " 

"Oh,  my  old  lawyer  is  not  a  brute,"  said  Tatham,  laugh- 
ing.    "He's  a  jolly  old  chap." 

"The  man  in  Lucca  was  a  horrid  brute!"  repeated 
Felicia.  "He  wanted  to  kiss  me!  There  was  a  vase  of 
flowers  standing  on  his  desk.  I  threw  them  at  him.  It 
cut  him.  I  was  so  glad!  His  forehead  began  to  bleed, 
and  the  water  ran  down  from  his  hair.  He  looked  so 
ugly  and  silly !  I  walked  all  the  way  home  up  the  moun- 
tains, and  when  I  got  home  I  fainted.  We  never  went 
to  that  man  again." 

"I  should  think  not!"  exclaimed  Tatham,  with  dis- 
gust. For  the  first  time  he  looked  at  her  attentively. 
An  English  girl  would  not  have  told  him  that  story  in  the 
same  frank,  upstanding  way.  But  this  little  elfish  creature, 
with  her  blazing  eyes,  friendless  and  penniless  in  the  world, 
had  probably  been  exposed  to  experiences  the  English 
girl  would  know  nothing  of.  He  did  not  like  to  think  of 
them.     That  beast,  her  father! 

He  was  going  away,  when  Felicia  said,  her  curly  head  a 
little  on  one  side,  her  tone  low  and  beguiling: 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  363 

"When  you  come  back,  will  you  teach  me  to  ride? 
Lady  Tatham  said  —  perhaps " 

Tatham  was  embarrassed  —  and  bored  —  by  tlie  re- 
quest. 

"I  have  no  doubt  we  can  find  you  a  pony,"'  he  said 
evasively,  and  taking  up  the  Bradshaw  he  walked 
away. 

Felicia  stood  alone  and  motionless  in  the  big  hall,  amid 
its  Gainsboroughs  and  Romneys,  its  splendid  cabinets  and 
tapestries,  a  childish  figure  in  a  blue  dress,  with  crimson 
cheeks,  and  compressed  lips.  Suddenly  she  ran  up  to  a 
mirror  on  the  wall,  and  looked  at  herself  vindictively. 

"It  is  because  you  are  so  ugly,"  she  said  to  the  image  in 
the  glass.  "Ugh,  you  are  so  ugly!  And  yet  I  can't  have 
yellow  hair  like  that  other  girl.  If  I  dyed  it,  he  would 
know  —  he  would  laugh.  And  she  is  all  round  and  soft; 
but  my  bones  are  all  sticking  out!  I  might  be  cut  out  of 
wood.  Ah"  —  her  wild  smile  broke  out  —  "I  know  what 
I'll  do!  I'll  drink  panna  —  cream  they  call  it  here. 
Every  night  at  tea  they  bring  in  what  would  cost  a  lira  in 
Florence.  I'll  drink  a  whole  cup  of  it!  —  I'll  eat  pounds 
of  butter  —  and  lots,  lots  of  pudding  —  that's  what  makes 
English  people  fat.  I'll  be  fat  too.  You'll  see!"  And 
she  threw  a  threatening  nod  at  the  scarecrow  reflected 
in  the  tortoise-shell  mirror. 

The  October  evening  had  fallen  when  Tatham  put  his 
mother  into  the  motor,  and  stood,  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
—  uncomfortable  and  disapproving  —  on  the  steps  of 
Duddon,  watching  the  bright  lights  disappearing  down 
the  long  avenue.     What  could  she  do.^*     He  hated  to  think 


364  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

of  her  in  the  old  miser's  house,  browbeaten  and  perhaps 
insulted,  when  he  was  not  there  to  protect  her. 

However  she  was  gone,  on  what  he  was  certain  would 
prove  a  futUe  errand,  and  he  turned  heavily  back  into  the 
house. 

The  head  keeper  was  waiting  in  the  inner  hall,  in  search 
of  orders  for  a  small  "shoot"  of  neighbours  on  the  morrow, 
planned  some  weeks  before. 

"Arrange  it  as  you  like,  Thurston!"  said  Tatham  hur- 
riedly, as  he  came  in  sight  of  the  man,  a  magnificent 
grizzled  fellow  in  gaiters  and  a  green  uniform.  "I  don't 
care  where  we  go." 

"I  thought  perhaps  the  CoUey  Wood  beat,  my 
lord " 

"Yes,  capital.  That'll  do.  I  leave  it  to  you.  Sorry 
I  can't  stay  to  talk  it  over.     Good-night!" 

"  There's  a  pair  of  foxes,  my  lord,  in  the  Nowers  spinney 
that  have  been  doing  a  shocking  amount  of  damage 
lately.     .     .     ." 

But  the  door  of  the  library  was  already  shut.  Thurston 
went  away,  both  astonished  and  aggrieved.  There  were 
few  things  he  liked  better  than  a  chat  with  the  young 
fellow  whom  he  had  taught  to  hold  a  gun;  and  Tatham 
was  generally  the  most  accessible  of  masters  and  the 
keenest  of  sportsmen,  going  into  every  detail  of  the  shoot- 
ing parties  himself,  with  an  unfailing  spirit. 

Meanwhile  Victoria  was  speeding  eastward  in  her  motor 
along  the  Pengarth  road.  Darkness  was  fast  rushing  on. 
To  her  left  she  saw  the  spreading  waste  of  Flitterdale 
Common,  its  great  stretches  of  moss  livid  in  the  dusk :  and 

# 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  365 

beyond  it,  westward,  the  rounded  tops  and  slopes  of  the 
range  that  runs  from  Great  Dodd  to  Helvellyn.  Pres- 
ently she  made  out,  in  the  distance,  looking  southward 
from  the  high-level  road  on  which  the  car  was  running,  the 
great  enclosure  of  Threlfall  Park,  on  either  side  of  the 
river  which  ran  between  her  and  Flitterdale;  the  dim  line 
of  its  circling  wall;  its  scattered  woods;  and  farther  on, 
the  square  mass  of  the  Tower  itself,  black  above  the 
trees. 

The  car  stopped  at  a  gate,  a  dark  and  empty  lodge 
beside  it.  The  footman  jumped  down.  Was  the  gate 
locked.?  —  and  must  she  go  round  to  Whitebeck,  and  make 
her  attack  from  that  side.?  No,  the  gate  swung  open,  and 
in  sped  the  car. 

Victoria  sat  upright,  her  mood  strung  to  an  intensity 
which  knew  no  fears.  It  was  twenty  years  since  she  had 
last  seen  Edmund  Melrose,  and  it  was  thirty  years  and 
more  since  she  had  rescued  her  sister  from  his  grasp,  and 
the  duel  between  herself  and  him  had  ended  in  her  final 
victory. 

How  dim  they  seemed,  those  far-off  days!  —  when  for 
some  two  or  three  years,  either  in  London  or  in  Paris, 
where  her  father  was  Ambassador,  she  had  been  in  fre- 
quent contact  with  a  group  of  young  men  —  of  young 
"bloods"  —  conspicuous  in  family  and  wealth,  among 
whom  Edmund  Melrose  was  the  reckless  leader  of  a  dare- 
devil set.  She  thought  of  a  famous  picture  of  the  young 
Beckford,  by  Lawrence,  to  which  Melrose  on  the  younger 
side  of  forty  had  been  frequently  compared.  The  same 
romantic  beauty  of  feature,  the  same  liquid  depth  of  eye, 
the  same  splendid  carriage;  and,  combined  with  these. 


366  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

the  same  insolence  and  selfishness.  There  had  been  in 
Victoria's  earlier  youth  moments  when  to  see  him  enter 
a  ballroom  was  to  feel  her  head  swim  with  excitement; 
when  to  carry  him  off  from  a  rival  was  a  passionate  de- 
light; when  she  coveted  his  praise,  and  dreaded  his  sar- 
casm. And  yet  —  it  was  perfectly  true  what  she  had  said 
to  Harry.  She  had  never  been  in  love  with  him.  The 
imagination  of  an  "unlessoned  girl"  had  been  fired;  but 
when  the  glamour  in  which  it  had  wrapped  the  man  had 
been  torn  away  by  the  disclosure  of  some  ugly  facts  con- 
cerning him;  when  she  broke  with  him  in  disgust,  and 
induced  others  to  break  with  him;  it  was  not  her  feelmgs, 
not  her  heart,  which  had  suffered. 

Nevertheless,  so  complex  a  thing  is  a  woman,  that  as 
Victoria  Tatham  drew  nearer  to  the  Tower,  and  to  Melrose, 
she  felt  herself  strangely  melting  toward  him  —  a  prey  to 
pity  and  the  tears  of  things.  She  alone  in  this  country- 
side had  been  a  witness  of  his  meteorlike  youth;  she 
alone  could  set  it  beside  his  sordid  and  dishonoured  age. 

What  did  she  hope  to  do  with  him?  The  plight  of  his 
wife  and  daughter  had  roused  her  strongest  and  most 
indignant  sympathy.  The  cry  of  wrong  or  injustice  had 
always  found  her  fiercely  responsive.  Whatever  an  out- 
sider could  do  to  help  Melrose's  local  victims  she  had  done, 
not  once  but  many  times.  Her  mind  was  permanently 
in  revolt  against  him,  both  as  a  man  and  a  landlord.  She 
had  watched  and  judged  him  for  years.  Yet,  now  that 
yet  another  of  his  misdeeds  was  to  bring  her  again  into 
personal  contact  with  him,  her  pulse  quickened;  some 
memory  of  the  old  ascendency  survived. 

It  was  a  still  and  frosty  evening.     As  the  motor  drew  up 


THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA  367 

in  the  walled  enclosure  before  the  Tower,  the  noise  of  its 
brakes  echoed  through  the  profound  silence  in  which  the 
Tower  was  wrapped.  No  sign  of  life  in  the  dark  front;  no 
ray  of  light  anywhere  from  its  shuttered  windows. 

Yet,  to  her  astonishment,  as  she  alighted,  and  before 
she  had  rung  the  bell,  the  front  door  was  thrown  open, 
and  Dixon  with  a  couple  of  dogs  at  his  heels  ran  down  the 
steps. 

At  sight  however  of  the  veiled  and  cloaked  lady  who  had 
descended  from  the  motor,  the  old  man  stopped  short, 
evidently  surprised.  With  an  exclamation  Victoria  did 
not  catch,  he  retreated  to  the  threshold  of  the  house. 

She  mounted  rapidly,  not  noticing  that  a  telegraph  boy 
on  a  bicycle  had  come  wheeling  into  the  forecourt  behind 
her. 

"Is  Mr.  Melrose  at  home?" 

As  she  threw  back  her  veil,  Dixon  stared  at  her  in  dumb 
amazement.  Then  she  suddenly  perceived  behind  him  a 
tall  figure  advancing.  She  made  a  few  steps  forward 
through  the  dimly  lighted  hall,  and  found  herself  within  a 
foot  of  Edmund  Melrose  himself. 

He  gave  a  start  —  checked  himself  —  and  stood  staring 
at  her.  He  wore  spectacles,  and  was  leaning  on  a  stick. 
She  had  a  quick  impression  of  physical  weakness  and 
decay. 

Without  any  visible  embarrassment  she  held  out  her 
hand. 

"I  am  lucky  to  have  found  you  at  home,  Mr.  Melrose. 
Will  you  give  me  twenty  minutes'  conversation  on  some 
important  business?" 

"Excuse  me!"  he  said  with  a  profound  bow,  and  a  mo- 


368  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

tion  of  the  left  hand  toward  the  stick  on  which  he  sup- 
ported himself  —  "or  rather  my  infirmities." 

Victoria's  hand  dropped. 

His  glittering  eyes  surveyed  her.  Dixon  approached 
him  holding  out  a  telegram. 

"Allow  me,"  said  Melrose,  as  he  tore  open  the  envelope 
and  perused  the  message.  "Ah!  I  thought  so!  You 
were  mistaken.  Lady  Tatham  —  for  another  visitor  — 
one  of  those  foreign  fellows  who  waste  so  nmch  of  my  time 
—  coming  to  see  a  few  little  things  of  mine.  Shut  the 
door,  Dixon  —  the  man  has  missed  his  train.  Now, 
Lady  Tatham !  —  you  have  some  business  to  discuss  with 
me.     Kindly  step  this  way." 

He  turned  toward  the  gallery.  Victoria  followed,  and 
Dixon  was  left  in  the  hall,  staring  after  them  in  a  helpless 
astonishment. 

The  gallery  lit  by  hanging  lamps  made  a  swift  impres- 
sion of  splendid  space  and  colour  on  Lady  Tatham  as  she 
passed  through  it  in  Melrose's  wake.  He  led  the  way 
without  a  word,  till  he  reached  the  door  of  his  own 
room. 

She  passed  into  the  panelled  library  which  has  been 
already  described  in  the  course  of  this  narrative.  On 
this  October  evening,  however,  its  aspect  was  not  that 
generally  presented  by  Melrose's  "den."  Its  ordinary 
hugger-mugger  had  been  cleared  away  —  pushed  back 
into  corners  and  out  of  sight.  But  on  the  splendid  French 
bureau,  and  on  various  other  tables  and  cabinets  of 
scarcely  less  beauty,  there  stood  ranged  in  careful  order 
a. wealth  of  glorious  things.  The  light  of  a  blazing  fire,  and 
of  many  lamps  played  on  some  fifty  or  sixty  dishes  and 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  309 

vases  from  the  great  days  of  Italian  majolica  —  speci- 
mens of  Gubbio,  Faenza,  Caffagiolo,  of  the  rarest  and 
costliest  quality.  The  room  glowed  and  sparkled  with 
colour.  The  gold  of  Italian  sunshine,  the  azure  of  Italian 
skies,  the  purple  of  Italian  grapes  seemed  to  have  been 
poured  into  it,  and  to  have  taken  shape  in  these  lustrous 
ewers  and  plaques,  in  their  glistering  greens  and  yellows, 
their  pale  opalescence,  their  superb  orange  and  blue. 
While  as  a  background  to  the  show,  a  couple  of  curtains  — 
Venetian  cut-velvet  of  the  seventeenth  century,  of  faded 
but  still  gorgeous  blue  and  rose  —  had  been  hung  over  a 
tall  screen. 

"What  marvellous  things!"  cried  Victoria,  throwing 
up  her  hands  and  forgetting  everything  else  for  the  mo- 
ment but  the  pleasure  of  a  trained  eye. 

Melrose  smiled. 

"Pray  take  that  chair!"  he  said,  with  exaggerated 
deference.  "  Your  visits  are  rare.  Lady  Tatham !  Is  it 
—  twenty  years.?  I  regret  I  have  no  drawing-room  in 
which  to  receive  you.  But  Mr.  Faversham  and  I  talk 
of  furnishing  it  before  long.  You  are,  I  beheve,  ac- 
quainted with  Mr.  Faversham.f*" 

He  waved  his  hand,  and  suddenly  Victoria  became 
aware  of  another  person  in  the  room.  Faversham  standing 
tall  and  silent,  amid  the  show  of  majohca,  bowed  to  her 
formally,  and  Victoria  slightly  acknowledged  the  greeting. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  Melrose's  foraging  eyes  travelled 
maliciously  between  her  and  the  agent. 

"Mr.  Faversham  and  I  only  unpacked  a  great  part  of 
this  stuff  yesterday,"  said  Melrose,  with  much  apparent 
good  humour.     "  It  has  been  shut  up  in  one  of  the  north 


370  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

rooms  ever  since  a  sale  in  Paris  at  which  I  bought  most  of 
the  pieces.  Crockett  wished  to  see  it"  (he  named  the 
most  famous  American  collector  of  the  day).  "He  shall 
see  it.  I  understand  he  will  be  here  to-morrow,  having 
missed  his  train  to-day.  He  will  come  no  doubt  with  his 
check-book.  It  amuses  me  to  lead  these  fellows  on, 
and  then  bid  them  good  morning.  They  have  the  most 
infernal  assumptions.  One  has  to  teach  them  that  an 
Englishman  is  a  match  for  any  American!" 

Victoria  sat  passive.  Faversham  took  up  a  pile  of 
letters  and  moved  toward  the  door.  As  he  opened  it,  he 
turned  and  his  eyes  met  Victoria's.  She  wavered  a  mo- 
ment under  the  passionate  and  haughty  resentment  they 
seemed  to  express,  no  doubt  a  reflection  of  the  reply  to 
his  letter  sent  him  by  Harry  that  morning.  Then  the 
door  shut  and  she  was  alone  with  Melrose. 

That  gentleman  leant  back  in  his  chair  observing  her. 
He  wore  the  curious  cloaklike  garment  of  thin  black  stuff, 
in  which  for  some  years  past  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
dress  when  indoors;  and  the  skullcap  on  his  silvery  white 
hair  gave  added  force  to  the  still  splendid  head  and  aqui- 
line features.  A  kind  of  mocking  satisfaction  seemed  to 
flicker  through  the  wrinkled  face;  and  the  general  aspect 
of  the  man  was  still  formidable  indeed.  And  yet  it  was 
the  phantom  of  a  man  that  she  beheld.  He  had  plead  to 
the  diaphanous  whiteness  of  the  Catholic  ascetic;  his 
hand  shook  upon  his  stick ;  the  folds  of  the  cloak  barely 
concealed  the  emaciation  of  his  body.  Victoria,  gazing 
at  him,  seemed  to  perceive  strange  intimations  and  pre- 
sages, and,  in  the  deep  harsh  eyes,  a  spirit  at  bay. 

She  began  quietly,  bending  forward: 


THE  IVL\TING  OF  LYDIA  371 

"Mr.  Melrose,  I  have  come  to  speak  to  you  on  behalf 
of  your  wife." 

"So  I  imagined.  I  should  not  allow  any  one  else,  Lady 
Tatham,  to  address  me  on  the  subject." 

"Thank  you.  I  resolved  —  as  you  see  —  to  appeal 
once  more  to  our  old " 

"Friendship.?"  he  suggested. 

"Yes  —  friendship,"  she  repeated,  slowly.  "It  might 
have  been  called  so  —  once." 

"Long  ago!  So  long  ago  that  —  I  do  not  see  how 
anything  practical  can  come  of  appealing  to  it,"  he  said, 
pointedly.  "Moreover,  the  manner  in  which  the  friend- 
ship was  trampled  on  —  by  you  —  not  once,  but  twice,  not 
only  destroyed  it,  but  —  if  I  may  say  so  —  replaced  it." 

His  hollow  eyes  burned  upon  her.  Wrapped  in  his  cloak, 
his  white  hair  gleamimg  amid  the  wonderful  ewers  and 
dishes,  he  had  the  aspect  of  some  wizard  or  alchemist,  of 
whom  a  woman  might  ask  poison  for  her  rival,  or  a  philter 
for  her  lover.  Victoria,  fascinated,  was  held  partly  by  the 
apparition  before  her,  partly  by  an  image  —  a  visualiza- 
tion in  the  mind.  She  saw  the  ballroom  in  that  splendid 
house,  now  the  British  Embassy  in  Paris,  and  once  the 
home  of  Pauline  Borghese.  She  saw  herself  in  white,  a 
wreath  of  forget-me-nots  in  her  hair.  She  has  just  heard, 
and  from  a  woman  friend,  a  story  of  lust  and  cruelty  in 
which  Edmund  ]Melrose  was  the  principal  actor.  He 
comes  to  claim  her  for  a  dance;  she  dismisses  him,  in 
public,  with  a  manner  and  in  words  that  scathe  —  that 
brand.  She  sees  his  look  of  rage,  as  of  one  struck  in  the 
face  —  she  feels  again  the  shudder  passing  through  her 
—  a  shudder  of  release,  horror  i)assing  into  thanksgiving. 


372  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

But  —  what  long  tracts  of  life  since  then !  —  what 
happiness  for  her !  —  what  decay  and  degeneracy  for  him ! 
A  pang  of  sheer  pity,  not  so  much  for  him  as  for  the  human 
lot,  shot  through  her,  as  she  realized  afresh  to  what  even- 
ing of  life  he  had  come,  from  what  a  morning. 

At  any  rate  her  manner  in  reply  showed  no  resentment 
of  his  tone. 

"All  these  things  are  dead  for  both  of  us,"  she  said 
quietly. 

He  interrupted  her. 

"  You  are  right  —  or  partly  right,  Edith  is  dead  — 
that  makes  it  easier  for  you  and  me  to  meet." 

"Yes.  Edith  is  dead,"  she  said,  with  sudden  emotion. 
"And  in  her  last  days  she  spoke  to  me  kindly  of  you." 

He  made  no  comment.     She  resumed: 

"I  desire,  if  I  can  —  and  if  you  will  allow  me  —  to  re- 
call to  you  the  years  when  we  were  cousins  and  friends 
together  —  blotting  out  all  that  has  happened  since.  If 
you  remember  —  twenty  years  ago,  when  you  and  your 
wife  arrived  to  settle  here,  I  then  came  to  ask  you  to  bury 
the  feud  between  us,  and  to  let  us  meet  again  at  least  as 
neighbours  and  acquaintances.  You  refused.  Then  came 
the  breakdowTi  of  your  marriage.  I  was  honestly  sorry 
for  it." 

He  smiled.  She  was  quite  conscious  of  the  mockery  in 
the  smile;  but  she  persevered. 

"And  now,  for  many  years,  I  have  not  known  —  no- 
body here  has  knowm,  whether  your  wife  was  alive  or 
dead.  Suddenly,  a  few  days  ago,  she  and  your  daughter 
arrived  at  Duddon,  to  ask  me  to  help  them." 

"Precisely.     To  make  use  of  you,  in  order  to  bring 


# 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  373 

pressure  to  bear  on  me !  I  do  not  mean  to  lend  myself  to 
the  proceeding!" 

Victoria  flushed. 

"In  attempting  to  influence  me,  Mrs.  Melrose,  I  assure 
you,  had  no  weapon  whatever  but  her  story.  And  to  look 
at  her  was  to  see  that  it  was  true.  She  admits  —  most 
penitently  —  that  she  was  wrong  to  leave  you " 

"And  to  rob  me!     You  forget  that." 

Victoria  threw  back  her  head.  He  remembered  that 
scornful  gesture  in  her  youth. 

"  What  did  that  matter  to  you.f*     In  this  house! " 

She  looked  round  the  room,  with  its  contents. 

"It  did  matter  to  me,"  he  said  stubbornly.  "My  col- 
lections are  the  only  satisfaction  left  to  me  —  by  you, 
Lady  Tatham  —  and  others.  They  are  to  me  in  the 
place  of  children.  I  love  my  bronzes  —  and  my  marbles 
—  as  you  —  I  suppose  —  love  your  son.  It  sounds  in- 
credible to  you,  no  doubt"  —  the  sneer  was  audible  — 
"but  it  is  so." 

"  Even  if  it  were  so  —  it  is  twenty  years  ago.  You  have 
replaced  what  you  lost  a  hundred  times." 

"I  have  never  replaced  it.  And  it  is  now  out  of  my 
reach  —  in  the  Berlin  Museum  —  bought  by  that  fellow 
Jensen,  their  head  man,  who  goes  nosing  like  a  hound 
all  over  Europe  —  and  is  always  poaching  in  my  pre- 
serves." 

Victoria  looked  at  him  in  puzzled  amazement.  Was 
this  mad,  this  childish  bitterness,  a  pose.'  —  or  was  there 
really  some  breakdown  of  the  once  powerful  brain?  She 
began  again  —  less  confidently. 

"  I  have  told  you  —  I  repeat  —  how  sorry  she  is  —  how 


374  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

fully  she  admits  she  was  wrong.  But  just  consider  how 
she  has  paid  for  it !  Your  allowance  to  her  —  you  must  let 
me  speak  plainly  —  could  not  keep  her  and  her  child 
decently.  Her  family  have  been  unfortunate;  she  has  had 
to  keep  them  as  well  as  herself.  And  the  end  of  it  is  that 
she  —  and  your  child  —  your  own  child  —  have  come 
pretty  near  to  starvation." 

He  sat  immovable.  But  Victoria  rose  to  her  task. 
Her  veil  thrown  back  from  the.pale  austerity  of  her  beauty, 
she  poured  out  the  story  of  Netta  and  Felicia,  from  a 
heart  sincerely  touched.  The  sordid  years  in  Florence, 
the  death  of  Netta's  mother,  the  bankruptcy  of  her  father, 
the  bitter  struggle  amid  the  Apuan  Alps  to  keep  them- 
selves and  their  wretched  invalid  alive  —  she  described 
them,  as  they  had  been  told  to  her,  not  rhetorical^,  for 
neither  she  nor  Netta  Melrose  was  capable  of  rhetoric, 
but  with  the  touches  and  plain  details  that  bring  con- 
viction. 

"They  have  been  hungry  —  for  the  peasants'  food. 
Your  wife  and  child  have  had  to  be  content  day  after  day 
with  a  handful  of  bread  and  a  salata  gathered  from  the 
roadside;  while  every  franc  they  could  earn  was  spent 
upon  a  sick  man.  Mrs.  jSlelrose  is  a  shadow.  I  suspect 
incurable  illness.  Your  httle  daughter  arrived  fainting 
and  emaciated  at  my  house.  But  with  a  few  days'  rest 
and  proper  food  she  has  revived.  She  is  young.  She  has 
not  suffered  irreparably.  One  sees  what  a  lovely  little 
creature  she  might  be  —  and  how  full  of  vivacity  and 
charm.  Mr.  Melrose  —  you  would  be  proud  of  her!  She 
is  like  you  —  like  what  you  were,  in  your  youth.  When  I 
think  of  what  other  people  would  give  for  such  a  daughter! 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  375 

Can  you  possibly  deny  yourself  the  pleasure  of  taking  her 
back  into  your  life?" 

"Very  easily!  Your  sentimentalism  will  resent  it;  I 
assure  you,  nevertheless,  that  it  would  give  me  no  pleasure 
whatever." 

"Ah,  but  consider  it  again,"  she  pleaded,  earnestly. 
"You  do  not  know  what  you  are  refusing  —  how  much, 
and  how  little.  All  that  is  asked  is  that  you  should 
acknowledge  them  —  provide  for  them.  Let  them  stay 
here  a  few  weeks  in  the  year  —  what  could  it  matter  to  you 
in  this  immense  house.f*  —  or  if  that  is  impossible,  at  least 
give  your  wife  a  proper  allowance  —  you  would  spend  it 
three  times  over  in  a  day  on  things  like  these"  —  her  eye 
glanced  toward  a  superb  ewer  and  dish,  of  verre  Sglomisee, 
standing  between  her  and  Melrose  —  "and  let  your 
daughter  take  her  place  as  your  heiress!  She  ought  to 
marry  early  —  and  marry  brilliantly.  And  later  —  per- 
haps —  in  her  children " 

Melrose  stood  up, 

"I  shall  not  follow  you  into  these  dreams,"  he  said 
fiercely.  "She  is  not  my  heiress  —  and  she  never  will  be. 
The  whole  of  my  property"  —  he  spoke  with  hammered 
emphasis — "will  pass  at  my  death  to  my  friend  and 
agent  and  adopted  son  —  Claude  Faversham." 

He  spoke  with  an  excitement  his  physical  state  no 
longer  allowed  him  to  conceal.  At  last  —  he  was  defeat- 
ing this  woman  who  had  once  defeated  him;  he  was  deny- 
ing and  scorning  her,  as  she  had  once  denied  and  scorned 
him.  That  her  cause  was  an  impersonal  and  an  unselfish 
one  made  no  difference.  He  knew  the  strength  of  her 
character  and  her  sympathies.     It  was  sweet  to  him  to 


376  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

refuse  her  something  she  desired.  She  had  never  yet 
given  him  the  opportunity!  In  the  twenty  years  since 
they  had  last  faced  each  other,  he  was  perfectly  conscious 
that  he  had  lost  mentally,  morally,  physically;  whereas 
she  —  his  enemy  —  bore  about  with  her,  even  in  her 
changed  beauty,  the  signs  of  a  life  lived  fruitfully  —  a  life 
that  had  been  worth  while.  His  bitter  perception  of  it, 
his  hidden  consciousness  that  he  had  probably  but  a  short 
time,  a  couple  of  years  at  most,  to  live,  only  increased  his 
satisfaction  in  the  "No"  —  the  contemptuous  and  final 
"No!"  that  he  had  opposed,  and  would  oppose,  to  her 
impertinent  interference  with  his  affairs. 

Victoria  sat  regarding  him  silently,  as  he  walked 
to  the  mantelpiece,  rearranged  a  few  silver  objects 
standing  upon  it,  and  then  turned  —  confronting  her 
again. 

"You  have  made  Mr.  Faversham  your  heir.''"  she  asked 
him  after  a  pause. 

"I  have.  And  I  shall  take  good  care  that  he  does 
nothing  with  my  property  when  he  inherits  it  so  as  to 
undo  my  wishes  with  regard  to  it." 

"That  is  to  say  —  you  will  not  even  allow  him  to  make 
—  himself  —  provision  for  your  wafe  and  daughter.?" 

"Beyond  what  was  indicated  in  the  letter  to  your  son.-^ 
No!  certainly  not.  I  shall  take  measures  against  any- 
thing of  the  sort." 

Victoria  rose. 

"And  he  accepts  your  condition  —  your  bequest  to  him, 
on  these  terms?" 

Melrose  smiled. 

"Certainly.     Why  not.?" 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  377 

"I  am  sorry  for  Mr.  Faversham!"  said  Victoria,  in  a 
different  voice,  the  colour  sparkling  on  her  cheek. 

"Because  you  think  there  will  be  a  pubhc  opinion 
against  him  —  that  he  will  be  boycotted  in  this  precious 
county?  Make  yourself  easy.  Lady  Tatham.  A  fortune 
such  as  he  will  inherit  provides  an  easy  cure  for  such 
wounds." 

Victoria's  self-control  began  to  break  dowTi. 

"I  venture  to  think  he  will  not  find  it  so,"  she  said,  with 
quickened  breath.  "In  these  days  it  is  not  so  simple  to 
defy  the  common  conscience  —  as  it  once  was.  I  fear 
indeed  that  Mr.  Faversham  has  already  lost  the  respect  of 
decent  men!" 

"By  becoming  my  agent?" 

"Your  tool  —  for  actions  —  cruel,  inhuman  things  — 
degrading  to  both  you  and  him." 

She  had  failed.  She  knew  it!  And  all  that  remained 
was  to  speak  the  truth  to  him,  to  defy  and  denounce  him. 

Melrose  surveyed  her. 

"The  ejectment  order  has  been  served  at  Mainstairs 
to-day,  I  believe;  and  the  police  have  at  last  plucked  up 
their  courage  to  turn  those  shiftless  people  out.  There, 
too,  I  understand.  Lady  Tatham,  you  have  been  med- 
dling." 

"I  have  been  trying  to  undo  some  of  your  wrong- 
doing," she  said,  with  emotion.  "And  now  —  before  I  go 
—  you  shall  not  prevent  me  from  saying  that  I  regard  it 
perhaps  as  your  last  and  worst  crime  to  have  perverted 
the  conscience  of  this  young  man!  He  has  been  well 
thought  of  till  now:  a  decent  fellow  sprung  from  decent 
people.     You  are  making  an  outcast  —  a  pariah  of  him. 


378  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

And  you  think  money  will  compensate  liim!  When  you 
and  I  knew  each  other,  Edmund  "  —  the  name  slipped  out 
—  "you  had  a  mind  —  one  of  the  shrewdest  I  ever  knew. 
1  appeal  to  that.  It  is  not  so  much  now  that  you  are 
wicked  or  cruel  —  you  are  playing  the  JooV.  And  you  are 
teaching  this  young  man  to  do  the  same." 

She  stood  confrontmg  him,  holding  herself  tensely 
erect  —  a  pale,  imperious  figure  —  the  embodiment  of  all 
the  higher  ideals  and  traditions  of  the  class  to  which  they 
both  belonged. 

In  her  agitation  she  had  dropped  her  glove.  Melrose 
picked  it  up. 

"On  that  I  think.  Lady  Tatham,  we  will  say  farewell. 
I  regret  I  have  not  been  able  to  oblige  you.  My  wife 
comes  from  a  needy  class  —  accustomed  to  manage  on  a 
little.  My  daughter  has  not  been  brought  up  to  luxury. 
Had  she  remained  with  me,  of  course,  the  case  would  have 
been  different.  But  you  will  find  they  will  do  very  well 
on  what  I  have  provided  for  them.  I  advise  you  not  to 
waste  your  pity.  And  as  for  Mr.  Faversham,  he  will  take 
good  care  of  himself.  He  frames  excellently.  And  I  hope 
before  long  to  see  him  married  —  to  a  very  suitable 
young  lady." 

They  remained  looking  at  each  other,  for  a  few  seconds, 
in  silence.  Then  Victoria  said  quietly,  with  a  forward 
step : 

"I  bid  you  good  evening." 

He  stood  at  the  door,  his  fingers  on  the  handle,  his 
eyes  glittering  and  malicious. 

"I  should  have  liked  to  have  showTi  you  some  of  my 
little  collections,"  he  said,  smiling.     "That  verrc  eglomisee. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  379 

for  instance"  —  he  pointed  to  it  —  "it's  magnificent, 
though  rather  decadent.  They  have  nothing  hke  it  in 
London  or  Paris.     Really  —  you  must  go?  " 

He  threw  the  door  open,  bowdng  profoimdly. 

"DLxon!" 

A  voice  responded  from  the  farther  end  of  the  corridor. 

"Tell  her  ladyship's  car  to  come  round.  Excuse  my 
coming  to  the  door,  Lady  Tatham.     I  am  an  old  man." 

The  car  sped  once  more  through  the  gloom  of  the  park. 
Victoria  sat  with  hands  locked  on  her  knee,  possessed  by 
the  after  tremors  of  battle. 

In  Melrose's  inhuman  ^411  there  was  something  demonic, 
which  appalled.  The  impotence  of  justice,  of  compassion, 
in  the  presence  of  certain  shameless  and  insolent  forces  of 
the  human  spirit  —  the  lesson  goes  deep !  Victoria 
quivered  under  it. 

But  there  were  other  elements  besides  in  her  tumult  of 
feeling.  The  tone,  the  taunting  look,  with  which  Melrose 
had  spoken  of  Faversham's  possible  marriage  —  did  he, 
did  all  the  world  know,  that  Harry  had  been  played  with 
and  jilted.''  For  that,  in  plain  English,  was  what  it  came 
to.  Her  heart  burnt  with  anger  —  with  a  desire  to 
punish. 

The  car  passed  out  of  the  lodge  gates.  Its  brilliant 
lamps  under  the  trees  seemed  to  strike  into  the  very  heart 
of  night.  And  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  light  they 
made,  two  figures  emerged,  an  old  man  carrying  a  sack,  a 
youth  beside  him,  with  a  gun  over  his  shoulder. 

They  were  the  Brands  —  father,  and  younger  son. 
Victoria  bent  forward  with  a  hasty  gesture  of  greeting. 


380  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

But  they  never  turned  to  look  at  the  motor.  They  passed 
out  of  the  darkness,  and  into  the  darkness  again,  their 
frowning,  unlovely  faces,  their  ragged  clothes  and  stoop- 
ing gait,  illuminated  for  an  instant. 

Victoria  had  tried  that  very  week,  at  her  son's  instance, 
to  try  and  persuade  the  father  to  take  a  small  farm  on  the 
Duddon  estate,  Tatham  oiBPering  to  lend  him  capital.  And 
Brand  had  refused.  Independence,  responsibihty,  could 
no  longer  be  faced  by  a  spirit  so  crushed.  "I  darena'  my 
lady,"  he  had  said  to  her.  "  I'm  worth  nobbut  my  weekly 
wage.  I  canna'  tak'  risks  —  no  more.  Thank  yo'  kindly ; 
but  yo'  mun  let  us  be!" 


xvn 

ON  the  morning  following  her  vain  interview 
with  Mehose,  Victoria,  sorely  conscious  of  defeat, 
conveyed  the  news  of  it  to  the  depressed  and 
disprited  Netta. 

They  were  in  Victoria's  sitting-room.  Netta  sat,  a 
lamentable  figure,  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa,  twisting  her 
disfigured  hands,  her  black  eyes  glancing  restlessly  about 
her.  Ever  since  she  had  read  Faversham's  letter  to 
Tatham  she  had  been  an  altered  being.  The  threats  as 
to  her  father,  which  it  contained,  seemed  to  have  withered 
her  afresh.  All  that  small  and  desperate  flicker  of  hope 
in  which  she  had  arrived  had  died  away,  and  her  deter- 
mination with  it.  Her  consent  to  Victoria's  interview 
with  Melrose  had  been  only  obtained  from  her  with  dif- 
ficulty. And  HOW  she  was  all  for  retreat  —  precipitate 
retreat. 

"  It's  no  use.  I  was  a  fool  to  come.  We  must  go  back. 
I  always  told  Fehcia  it  would  be  no  use.  We'd  better  not 
have  come.     I'll  not  have  papa  tormented ! " 

While  she  was  speaking  a  footman  entered,  bringing  a 
telegram  for  Victoria.      It  was  from  Tatham  in  London. 

"Have  just  seen  lawyers.  They  are  of  opinion  we  could 
not  fail  in  application  for  proper  allowance  and  provision 
for  both  mother  and  daughter.     Hope  you  will  persuade 

381 


382  THE  ]VIATING  OF  LYDIA 

Mrs.  Melrose  to  let  us  begin  proceedings  at  once.  \  ery 
sorry  for  your  telegram  this  morning,  but  only  what  I 
expected." 


Victoria  read  the  message  to  her  guest,  and  then  did 
lier  best  to  urge  boldness  —  an  immediate  stroke.  But 
Xetta  shook  her  head  despairingly.  She  coiild  not  and 
would  not  have  her  father  harassed.  Mr.  Melrose  would 
do  anything  —  bribe  anybody  —  to  get  his  way.  They 
would  have  the  pohce  coming,  and  dragging  her  father  to 
prison.     It  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 

Victoria  tried  gently  to  investigate  what  skeleton  might 
be  lying  in  the  Smeath  closet,  whereof  Mr.  Melrose  pos- 
sessed such  very  useful  information.  But  Netta  held  her 
tongue.  "Papa  had  been  very  unfortunate,  and  the  Gov- 
ernment would  hke  to  put  him  in  prison  if  they  could. 
Edmund  had  been  always  so  cruel  to  him."  Beyond  this 
Victoria  could  not  get. 

But  the  determination  of  the  frail,  faded  woman  was 
unshakable,  although  she  glanced  nervously  at  her  daugh- 
ter from  time  to  time,  as  if  much  more  in  dread  of  her 
opinion  than  of  Victoria's. 

Felicia,  who  had  listened  in  silence  to  the  conversation 
between  her  mother  and  Victoria,  turned  round  from  the 
window  in  which  she  was  staring,  as  soon  as  Lady  Tatham 
seemed  to  be  finally  worsted. 

"Mother,  you  promised  to  stay  here  till  Christmas!" 

The  voice  was  imperious.  Felicia's  manner  to  her 
mother  indeed  was  often  of  an  unfilial  sharpness,  and 
Victoria  was  already  meditating  some  gentle  discipline  on 
the  point. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  383 

"Oh,  no,  Felicia!"  said  Netta,  helplessly,  "not  till 
Christmas."  Then,  remembering  herself,  she  turned 
toward  her  hostess:  "It's  so  kind  of  you,  I'm  sure." 

"Yes,  till  Christmas!"  repeated  Felicia.  "You  know 
grandpapa's  no  worse.  You  know,"  the  girl  flushed  sud- 
denly a  bright  crimson,  "Lord  Tatham  sent  him  money 
—  and  he's  quite  comfortable.  /  am  not  going  home  just 
yet !  I  am  not  going  back  to  Italy  —  till  —  I  have  seen 
my  father!" 

She  faced  round  upon  Victoria  and  her  mother,  her 
hands  on  her  hips,  her  breath  fluttering. 

"Felicia!"  cried  her  mother,  "you  can't.  I  tell  you  — 
you  can't!     I  should  never  allow  it!" 

"Yes,  you  would,  mother!  What  are  you  afraid  of? 
He  can't  kill  me.  It's  ridiculous.  I  must  see  my  father. 
I  will !  He  is  getting  old  —  he  may  die.  I  will  see  him 
before  I  leave  England.  I  don't  care  whether  he  gives  u& 
the  money  or  not!" 

Victoria's  bright  eyes  showed  her  sympathy;  though 
she  did  not  interfere.     But  Netta  shrank  into  herself. 

"You  are  always  such  a  wilful  child,  Felicia!  You 
mustn't  do  anything  without  my  leave.  You'll  kill  me  if 
you  do." 

And  ashen-pale,  she  got  up  and  left  the  room.  Victoria 
glanced  at  Felicia. 

"Don't  do  anything  against  your  mother's  will,"  she 
said  gently.  "You  are  too  young  to  decide  these  things 
for  yourself.  But,  if  you  can,  persuade  her  to  follow  Lord 
Tatham's  advice.  He  is  most  anxious  to  help  you  in  the 
best  way.  And  he  does  not  believe  that  Mr.  Melrose 
could  hurt  your  grandfather." 


384  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Felicia  shook  her  curly  head,  frowning. 

"One  cannot  persuade  mother  —  one  cannot.  She  is 
obstinate  —  oh,  so  obstinate !  If  it  were  me,  I  would  do 
anything  Lord  Tatham  asked  me !  —  anything  in  the 
world." 

She  stood  with  her  hands  behind  her  back,  her  slight 
figure  drawn  up,  her  look  glowing. 

Victoria  bent  over  her  embroidery,  smiling  a  little, 
unseen,  and,  in  truth,  not  ill  pleased.  Yet  there  was 
something  disturbing  in  these  occasional  outbursts.  For 
the  little  Southerner's  own  sake,  one  must  take  care  they 
led  to  nothing  serious.  For  really  —  quite  apart  from  any 
other  consideration  —  Harry  never  took  the  smallest 
notice  of  her.  And  who  could  know  better  than  his 
mother  that  his  thoughts  were  still  held,  still  tormented 
by  the  vision  of  Lydia.'* 

FeUcia  slipped  out  of  a  glass  door  that  led  to  the 
columned  veranda  outside.  Victoria,  mindful  of  the  girl's 
delicate  look,  hurried  after  her  with  a  fur  wrap.  Felicia 
gratefully  but  absently  kissed  her  hand,  and  Victoria  left 
her  to  her  own  thoughts. 

It  was  a  sunny  day,  and  although  November  was  well 
in,  there  was  almost  an  Italian  warmth  in  this  southern 
loggia  where  roses  were  still  blooming.  Felicia  walked 
up  and  down,  her  gaze  wandering  over  the  mountain  land- 
scape to  the  south  —  the  spreading  flanks  and  slopes  of 
the  high  fells,  scarlet  with  withered  fern,  and  capped  with 
new-fallen  snow.  Through  the  distant  landscape  she  per- 
ceived the  line  of  the  stream  which  ran  under  Flitterdale 
Common  with  its  high  cliff-banks,  and  hanging  woods, 
now  dressed  in  the  last  richness  of  autumn.     That  distant 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  385 

wall  of  trees  —  behind  it,  she  knew,  was  Threlfall  Tower. 
Her  father  —  her  unkind,  miserly  father,  who  hated  both 
Iier  and  her  mother  —  lived  there. 

How  far  was  it?  A  long  way!  But  she  would  get 
there  somehow. 

"It  is  my  right  to  see  my  father!"  she  said  to  her- 
self passionately;  adding  with  a  laugh  which  swept  away 
heroics,  "After  all,  he  might  take  a  fancy  to  me  in  these 
clothes!" 

And  she  looked  down  complacently  on  the  pretty 
tailor-made  skirt  and  the  new  shoes  that  showed  beneath 
Victoria's  fur  cloak.  In  less  than  a  fortnight  her  own 
ambition  and  the  devotion  of  Victoria's  maid,  Hesketh,  only 
too  delighted  to  dress  somebody  so  eager  to  be  dressed, 
for  whom  the  mere  operations  of  the  toilette  possessed 
a  kind  of  reUgious  joy,  on  whom,  moreover,  "clothes"  in 
the  proper  and  civilized  sense  of  the  word,  sat  so  amazingly 
well  —  had  turned  the  forlorn  little  drudge  into  a  figure 
more  than  creditable  to  the  pains  lavished  upon  her. 
Felicia  aimed  high.  The  thought  and  trouble  which  the 
young  lady  had  spent,  since  her  arrival,  on  her  hair,  her 
hands,  and  the  minor  points  of  Enghsh  manners,  not  to 
mention  the  padding  and  plumping  of  her  small  person  - — 
which  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts,  however,  remained  of  a 
most  sylphlike  slimness  —  by  a  generous  diet  of  cream 
and  butter,  only  she  and  Hesketh  knew.  Victoria  guessed, 
and  felt  a  new  and  most  womanish  pleasure  in  the  details 
of  her  transformation.  She  realized,  poignantly,  how 
pleasant  it  would  have  been  to  dress  and  spoil  a  daughter. 
All  the  more,  as  Felicia,  after  a  first  eager  grasping  at 
pretty  things,  as  a  child  holds  out  covetous  hands  for  toys 


386  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

and  sweets,  had  shown  sudden  scruples,  an  unexpected  and 
pretty  recoil. 

"Don't  give  me  so  many  things!"  she  had  said,  almost 
with  a  stamp,  the  sudden,  astonishing  tears  in  her  great 
eyes;  when,  after  the  first  week,  the  new  clothes  began  to 
shower  upon  her.  "I  can't  help  wanting  them!  I  adore 
them!  But  I  won't  be  a  beggar  —  no!  You  will  think 
we  only  came  here  for  this  —  to  get  things  out  of  you.  We 
didn't  —  we  didn't !" 

"My  dear,  won't  you  give  me  the  pleasure.'*"  Victoria 
had  said,  shamefacedly,  putting  out  a  hand  to  stroke 
the  girl's  hair.  Wliereupon  Felicia  had  thrown  herseh 
impulsively  on  her  knees,  with  her  arms  round  the  speaker, 
and  there  had  been  a  mingled  moment  of  laughter  and 
emotion  which  had  left  Victoria  very  much  astonished  at 
herself,  and  given  Hesketh  a  free  hand.  Victoria's  soli- 
tary pursuits,  the  awkward  or  stately  reserve  of  her  ordi- 
nary manner,  were  deplorably  interfered  with,  indeed,  by 
the  advent  of  this  lovely,  neglected  child,  who  on  her  side 
had  fallen  passionately  in  love  with  Victoria  at  first 
sight  and  seemed  to  be  now  rarely  happy  out  of  her 
company. 

After  which  digression  we  may  return  for  a  moment  to 
Felicia  on  the  loggia,  admiring  her  new  shoes. 

From  that  passing  ecstasy,  she  emerged  resolved. 

"We  wiU  stay  here  till  Christmas  —  and " 

But  on  the  rest  of  her  purpose  she  shut  her  small  lips 
firmly.  Before  she  turned  indoors,  however,  she  gave 
some  attention  to  the  course  of  a  white  road  in  the  middle 
distance,  on  which  she  had  travelled  with  Lord  Tatham 
the  day  he  had  taken  her  to  Green  Cottage.     The  cottage 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  387 

where  the  yellow-haired  girl  lived  lay  beyond  that  nearer 
hill.  Ah!  but  nobody  spoke  of  that  yellow-haired  girl 
now.  Nobody  sent  flowers  or  books.  Nobody  so  much 
as  mentioned  her  name.  It  was  strange  —  but  singularly 
pleasing.  Fehcia  raised  herself  triumphantly  on  tiptoe, 
as  though  she  would  peer  over  the  hill  into  the  cottage; 
and  so  see  for  herself  how  the  Signorina  Penfold  took  this 
sudden  and  complete  neglect. 

Tatham  returned  from  London  the  following  day, 
bringing  Cyril  Boden  —  who  was  again  on  the  sick  list  — 
with  him. 

He  arrived  full  of  plans  for  the  discomfiture  of  !Melrose, 
only  to  be  brought  up  irrevocably  against  the  stubborn 
resolve  which  Netta,  wrapped  in  an  irritable  and  tearful 
melancholy,  opposed  to  them  all.  She  would  not  hear  of 
the  legal  proceedings  he  urged  upon  her;  and  it  was  only 
on  an  assurance  that  nothing  could  or  would  be  done  with- 
out her  consent,  coupled  with  a  good  report  of  her  father, 
that  she  at  last  consented  to  stay  at  Duddon  till  the  New 
Year,  so  that  further  ways  of  helping  her  might  be  dis- 
cussed. 

Fehcia,  when  the  thing  was  settled,  danced  about 
Victoria's  room,  kissed  her  mother  and  ran  oflf  at  once, 
with  Victoria's  permission,  to  ask  the  old  coachman  who 
ruled  the  Duddon  stables  to  give  her  riding-lessons. 
Victoria  noticed  that  she  carefully  avoided  consulting 
Tatham  in  any  way  about  her  lessons.  Indeed  the  earlier, 
half-childish,  half-audacious  efforts  she  had  made  to 
attract  his  attention  entirely  ceased  about  this  time. 

And  he,  as  soon  as  it  was  evident  that  Mrs.  Melrose 


388  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

would  not  take  his  advice,  and  that  legal  proceedings  must 
be  renounced,  felt  a  natural  slackening  of  interest  m  his 
mother's  guests.  He  was  perfectly  kind  and  polite  to  them 
but  Netta's  cowardice  disgusted  him;  and  it  was  a  personal 
disappointment  to  be  thus  balked  of  that  public  campaign 
against  Melrose's  enormities  which  would  have  satisfied 
the  just  and  long-baffled  feelings  of  a  whole  county;  and 
—  incidentally  —  would  surely  have  unmasked  a  greedy 
and  unscrupulous  adventurer. 

Meanwhile  the  whole  story  of  Mrs.  Melrose  and  her 
daughter  had  spread  rapidly  through  the  neighbourhood. 
The  local  papers,  now  teeming  with  attacks  on  Melrose, 
and  the  management  of  the  Melrose  property,  had  fastened 
with  avidity  on  the  news  of  their  arrival.  "Mrs.  Edmund 
Melrose  and  her  daughter,  after  an  absence  of  twenty  years 
have  arrived  in  Cumbria.  They  are  now  staymg  at 
Duddon  Castle  with  Countess  Tatham.  Mr.  Claude 
Faversham  is  at  Threlfall  Tower."  These  few  sentences 
served  as  symbols  of  a  dramatic  situation  which  was  being 
discussed  in  every  house  of  the  district,  in  the  farms  and 
cottages  no  less  eagerly  than  by  the  Andovers  and  the 
Bartons.  The  heiress  of  ThreKall  was  not  dead!  After 
twenty  years  she  and  her  mother  had  returned  to  claim 
their  rights  from  the  Ogre;  and  Duddon  Castle,  the  head- 
quarters of  all  that  was  powerful  and  respected  in  the 
county,  had  taken  up  their  cause.  Meanwhile  the  little 
heiress  had  been,  it  seemed,  supplanted.  Claude  Faver- 
sham was  in  possession  at  Threlfall,  and  was  being  treated 
as  the  heir.  Mr.  Melrose  had  flatly  refused  even  to  see  his 
wife  and  daughter  whom  he  had  left  in  poverty  and  star- 
vation for  twenty  years. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  389 

Upon  these  facts  the  twm  spirit  of  romance  and  hatred 
swooped  vulturehke.  Any  story  of  inheritance,  especially 
when  charm  and  youth  are  mixed  up  with  it,  kindles  the 
popular  mind.  It  was  soon  known  that  Miss  Melrose  was 
pretty,  and  small;  though,  said  report,  worn  to  a  skeleton 
by  paternal  ill-usage.  Romance  hkes  its  heroines  small. 
The  countryside  adopted  the  unconscious  FeUcia,  and 
promptly  married  her  to  Harry  Tatham.  What  could  be 
more  appropriate .f*  Duddon  could  afford  to  risk  a  dowry; 
and  what  maiden  in  distress  could  wish  for  a  better  Perseus 
than  the  splendid  young  man  who  was  the  general  favour- 
ite of  the  neighbourhood.'' 

As  to  the  hatred  of  Melrose  w  hich  gave  zest  to  the  tale 
of  his  daughter,  it  was  becoming  a  fury.  The  whole 
Mainstairs  village  had  now  been  ejected,  by  the  help  of 
a  large  body  of  police  requisitioned  from  Carhsle  for  the 
purpose.  Of  the  able-bodied,  some  had  migrated  to  the 
neighbouring  towns,  some  were  camped  on  Duddon  land, 
in  some  wood  and  iron  huts  hastily  run  up  for  their  accom- 
modation. And  thus  a  village  w^hich  might  be  traced 
in  Doomsday  Book  had  been  wiped  out.  For  the  sick 
Tatham  had  offered  a  vacant  farmhouse  as  a  hospital ;  and 
Victoria,  Mrs.  Andover,  and  other  ladies  had  furnished  and 
equipped  it.  Some  twenty  cases  of  enteric  and  diphtheria, 
were  housed  there,  a  few  of  them  doomed  beyond  hope. 
Melrose  had  been  peremptorily  asked  for  a  subscription 
to  the  fund  raised,  and  had  replied  in  his  own  handwTiting 
that  owing  to  the  heavy  expenses  he  had  been  put  to  by 
the  behaviour  of  his  Mainstairs  tenants,  as  reported  to 
him  by  his  agent,  Mr.  Faversham,  he  must  respectfully 
decline.     The  letter  was  published  in  the  two  local  papers 


390  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

with  appropriate  comments,  and  a  week  later  an  indig- 
nation meeting  to  protest  against  the  state  of  the  Threlfall 
property,  and  to  petition  the  Local  Government  Board 
to  hold  an  inquiry  on  the  spot,  was  held  in  Carlisle,  with 
Tatham  in  the  chair.  And  everywhere  the  public  indig- 
nation which  could  not  get  at  Melrose,  who  now,  except 
for  railway  journeys,  never  showed  himself  outside  the  wall 
of  his  park,  was  beginning  to  fall  upon  the  "adventurer" 
who  was  his  tool  and  accomphce,  and  had  become  the 
supplanter  of  his  young  and  helpless  daughter.  Men  who 
four  months  before  had  been  eager  to  welcome  Faversham 
to  his  new  office  now  passed  him  in  the  street  without 
recognition.  At  the  County  Club  to  which  he  had  been 
easily  elected.  Colonel  Barton  proposing  him,  he  was  con- 
spicuously cut  by  Barton  himseK,  Squire  Andover  and 
many  others  following  suit.  "An  impostor,  and  a  cad!" 
said  Barton  fiercely  to  Undershaw.  "He  took  me  in  — 
and  I  can't  forgive  him.  He  is  doing  all  Melrose's  dirty 
work  for  him,  better  than  Melrose  could  do  it  himself. 
His  letters,  for  instance,  to  our  Council  Committee 
about  the  allotments  we  are  trying  to  get  out  of  the 
old  villain  have  been  devilish  clever,  and  devilish  im- 
pudent! Melrose  couldn't  have  written  them.  And 
now  this  business  of  the  ghl!  — and  the  fortune!  — 
sickening ! " 

"He  is  a  queer  chap,'*  said  Undershaw  thoughtfully. 
"  I've  been  as  mad  with  him  as  anybody  —  but  somehow — 
I  don't  know.  Suppose  we  wait  a  bit.  Melrose's  life 
is  a  bad  one." 

But  Barton  refused  to  wait,  and  went  off  storming. 
The  facts,  he  vowed,  were  more  than  enough. 


THE  IVL4TING  OF  LYDIA  391 

The  weeks  passed  on.  Duddon  knew  no  longer  what 
Green  Cottage  was  doing,  ^'ictor^a,  at  any  rate,  was 
ignorant,  and  forbore  to  ask  —  hy  word  of  mouth;  though 
her  thoughts  were  one  long  interrogation  on  the  subject  of 
Lydia,  both  as  to  the  present  and  the  past.  Was  she  still 
in  correspondence  with  Faversham,  as  Victoria  now  under- 
stood from  Tatham  she  had  been  all  the  summer?  Was 
she  still  defending  him.''  Perhaps  engaged  to  him?  For 
a  fair-minded  and  sensible  woman,  Victoria  fell  into 
strange  bogs  of  prejudice  and  injustice  in  the  course  of 
these  ponderings. 

In  her  drives  and  walks  at  this  time,  Victoria  generally 
avoided  the  neighbourhood  of  the  cottage.  But  one 
afternoon  at  the  very  end  of  October,  she  overtook  — 
walking  —  a  slight,  muffled  figure  in  the  TVTiitebeck  road, 
and  recognized  Susy  Penfold.  A  constrained  greeting 
passed  between  them,  and  Lady  Tatham  learnt  that  Lydia 
was  away  —  had  been  away,  indeed,  since  the  day  follow- 
ing her  last  interview  with  Harry.  The  very  next  morn- 
ing she  and  her  mother  had  been  summoned  to  London 
by  the  grave  illness  of  Mrs.  Penfold's  elder  sister.  And 
there  they  were  still;  though  Lydia  was  expected  home 
shortly. 

Victoria  walked  on,  with  relieved  feelings,  she  scarcely 
knew  why.  At  any  rate  there  had  been  no  personal  con- 
tact between  Faversham  and  a  charming  though  foolish 
girl,  during  these  weeks  of  popular  indignation. 

By  what  shabby  arts  had  the  mean  and  grasping 
fellow  now  installed  at  Threlfall  ever  succeeded  in  obtain- 
ing a  hold  over  a  being  so  refined,  so  fastidious  and  —  to 
all   appearances  —  so   high-minded,   as   Lydia   Penfold? 


392  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

To  refuse  Harry  and  decline  on  Claude  Faversham! 
Victoria  acknowledged  indeed  a  certain  pseudo-Byronic 
charm  in  the  man.  She  could  not  forget  the  handsome 
head  as  she  had  seen  it  last  at  the  door  of  Melrose's  hbrary; 
or  the  melodramatic  black  and  white  of  the  face,  of  the 
small,  peaked  beard,  the  dark  brows,  pale  lantern  cheeks, 
and  heavy-lidded  eyes.  All  the  picturesque  adventurers 
of  the  world  betray  something,  she  thought,  of  a  common 
stamp. 

At  last  one  evening,  when  Tatham  was  away  on  county 
business,  and  Fehcia  had  gone  to  bed,  Victoria  suddenly 
unburdened  herself  to  Cyril  Boden,  as  they  sat  one  on 
either  side  of  a  November  fire,  while  a  southwesterly  gale 
from  the  high  fells  blustered  and  raged  outside. 

Boden  was  the  confessor  of  a  good  many  people.  Not 
that  he  was  by  any  means  an  orthodox  Christian;  his 
ascetic  ways  had  very  little  to  do  with  any  accepted  form 
of  doctrine.  But  there  was  in  him  the  natural  priestly 
power,  which  the  priest  by  ordination  may  have  or  miss. 
It  was  because  men  and  women  realized  in  himself  the 
presence  of  a  travailing,  questioning,  suffering  soul, 
together  with  an  iron  self-repression,  that  those  who 
suffered  and  questioned  came  to  him,  and  threw  them- 
selves upon  him;  often  getting  more  buffeting  than  balm 
for  their  pains;  but  always  conscious  of  some  mysterious 
attractions  in  him,  as  of  one  who,  like  Sir  Boris,  had  seen 
the  Grail,  but  might  never  tell  of  the  vision. 

Victoria  was  truly  attached  to  him.  He  had  been  with 
her  during  the  days  of  her  husband's  sudden  illness  and 
death;  he  had  advised  her  with  regard  to  the  passing  dif- 
ficulties of  Tatham's  school  and  college  days  and  pointed 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  393 

a  way  for  her  through  many  perplexities  of  her  own. 
Duddon  was  as  much  of  a  home  to  him,  as  he  probably 
possessed  in  the  world.  When  he  had  worn  himself  out 
with  some  one  or  other  of  the  many  causes  he  pursued  in 
South  London,  working  with  a  sombre  passion  which  had 
in  it  very  little  of  the  mystical  joy  or  hope  which  sustain 
others  in  similar  efforts;  when  he  had  scarcely  a  coat  to 
his  back,  or  a  shoe  to  his  feet;  when  his  doctor  began  to 
talk  of  tuberculin  tests  and  the  high  Alps;  then  he  would 
wire  to  Duddon,  and  come  and  vegetate  under  Victoria's 
wing,  for  just  as  many  weeks  as  were  necessary  to  send 
him  back  to  London  restored  to  a  certain  physical  stand- 
ard. To  watch  Harry  Tatham's  wholesome,  kindly,  pros- 
perous life,  untroubled  by  any  of  the  nightmares  that 
weighed  upon  his  own,  was  an  unfailing  pleasure  to  a 
weary  man.  He  loved  both  Harry  and  his  mother. 
Nevertheless,  as  soon  as  he  arrived,  both  felt  him  the  gad- 
fly in  the  house.  His  mind  was  nothing  if  not  critical. 
And  undoubtedly  the  sight  of  easy  wealth  was  an  irrita- 
tion to  him.  He  struggled  against  it;  but  sometimes  it 
would  out. 

As  he  sat  this  evening  crouched  over  the  fire,  his  hands 
spread  to  the  blaze,  he  looked  more  frail  than  usual;  a 
fact  which  perhaps,  half-consciously,  affected  Victoria  and 
drew  out  her  confidence.  His  dress  suit,  primevally  old, 
would  scarcely,  she  reflected,  hold  together  another  winter. 
But  how  it  was  to  be  replaced  had  already  cost  her  and 
Harry  much  thought.  There  was  nobody  more  personally, 
fanatically  proud  than  Boden  toward  his  well-to-do 
friends.  His  clothes  indeed  were  a  matter  of  tender 
anxiety  in  the  Duddon  household,  and  Tatham's  valet 


394  THE  JMATING  OF  LYDIA 

and  Victoria's  maids  did  him  many  smaU  services,  some 
of  which  he  repaid  with  a  smile  and  a  word  —  priceless  to 
the  recipient;  and  some  he  was  never  aware  of.  When 
his  visits  to  Duddon  first  began,  the  contents  of  his  glad- 
stone  bag  used  to  provide  merriment  in  the  servants'  hall, 
and  legend  said  that  a  young  footman  had  once  dared  to  be 
insolent  to  him.  Had  any  one  ventured  the  same  conduct 
now  he  would  have  been  sent  to  Coventry  by  every  ser- 
vant in  the  house. 

It  was  to  this  austere,  incalculable,  yet  always  attractive 
listener,  that  Victoria  told  the  story  of  Harry  and  Lydia, 
of  the  Faversham  adventure,  and  the  Melrose  inheritance. 
If  she  wanted  advice,  a  little  moral  guidance  for  herself  — 
and  indeed  she  did  want  it  —  she  did  not  get  any;  but  of 
comment  there  was  plenty. 

"That's  the  girl  I  saw  here  last  time,"  mused  Boden, 
nursing  his  knee  —  "lovely  creature  —  with  some  mind 
in  her  face.     So  she's  refused  Harry  —  and  Duddon?" 

"Which  no  doubt  will  commend  her  to  you!"  said 
Victoria,  not  without  a  certain  bristling  of  her  feathers. 

"  It  does,"  said  Boden  quietly.  "  Upon  my  word,  it  v.'as 
a  fine  thing  to  do." 

"Just  because  we  happen  to  be  rich?"  Victoria's  eyelids 
fluttered  a  httle. 

"No!  but  because  it  throws  a  little  Hght  on  what  we 
choose  to  call  the  soul.  It  brings  one  back  to  a  faint 
belief  in  the  existence  of  the  thing.  Here  is  one  of  the 
great  fortunes,  and  one  of  the  splendid  houses  of  the  world, 
and  a  little  painting  girl  who  makes  a  few  pounds  by  her 
drawings  says  'No,  thank  you!'  when  they  are  laid  at  her 
feet  —  because  —  of  a  little  trifle  called  love  which  she 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  395 

can't  bring  to  the  bargain.  I  confess  that  bucks  one  up. 
*  The  day-star  doth  his  beams  restore.'  " 

He  took  up  the  tongs,  and  began  absently  to  rebuild 
the  fire.  Victoria  waited  on  his  remarks  with  heightened 
colour. 

"Of  course  I'm  sorry  for  Harry,"  he  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment, with  his  queer  smile.  "I  saw  there  was  something 
wrong  when  I  arrived.  But  it's  salutary  —  very  salutary ! 
Hasn't  he  had  everything  in  the  world  he  wanted  from  his 
cradle?  And  isn't  it  as  certain  as  anything  can  be  that 
he'll  find  some  other  charming  girl,  who'll  faint  with  joy, 
when  he  asks  her,  and  give  you  all  the  grandchildren  you 
want?  And  meanwhile  we  have  this  bit  of  the  heroic  — 
this  defiance  of  a  miry  world,  cropping  up  —  to  help  us 
out  of  our  mud-holes.  I'm  awfully  sorry  for  Harry  — 
but  I  take  off  my  hat  to  the  girl." 

Victoria's  expression  became  sarcastic. 

"Wlio  will  ultimately  marry,"  she  said,  "according  to 
my  interpretation  of  the  business,  a  first-class  adventurer 
—  possessed  of  a  million  of  money  —  stolen  from  its 
proper  owners." 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  I've  seen  her !  But,  upon  my  word, 
what  a  queer  parable  it  all  is!  Shall  I  tell  you  how  it 
shapes  itself  to  me?"  He  looked,  tongs  in  hand,  at  Vic- 
toria, his  greenish  eyes  all  alive.  "I  see  you  all  —  you, 
Harry,  Faversham,  and  Melrose,  Miss  Lydia  —  grouped 
round  a  central  point.  The  point  is  wealth.  You  are 
all  in  different  relations  to  wealth.  You  and  Harry  are 
indifferent  to  wealth,  because  you  have  always  had  it.  It 
has  come  to  you  without  toihng  and  spinning  —  can  you 
imagine  being  without  it?  —  but  it  has  not  spoilt  you. 


396  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

You  sit  loose  to  it;  because  you  have  never  struggled  for  it. 
But  I  doubt  whether  the  Recording  Angel,  when  it  comes 
to  reckoning  up,  will  give  you  very  high  marks  for  your 
indifference!  Dear  friend!"  —  he  put  out  a  sudden  hand 
and  touched  Victoria's  — "bear  with  me!  There's  one 
thing  you'll  hear,  if  any  one  does,  at  the  last  day  —  T 
was  a  stranger  and  ye  took  me  in.'  "  His  eyes  shone  upon 
her. 

After  which,  he  resumed  in  his  former  tone:  "Then  take 
Melrose.  He  too  is  determined  by  his  relation  to  wealth. 
Wealth  has  just  ruined  him  —  burnt  him  up  —  made  out 
of  him  so  much  refuse  for  the  nether  fires.  Faversham 
again !  Wealth,  the  crucial,  deciding  factor !  The  testing 
with  him  is  still  going  on.  He  seems,  from  your  account, 
to  be  coming  out  badly.  And  lastlj^  the  girl  —  who,  like 
you,  is  indifferent  to  wealth,  but  for  different  reasons; 
who  probably  hates  and  shrinks  from  it;  Hke  a  wild  bird 
that  fears  the  cage.  You,  my  dear  lady  —  you  and  Harry 
—  have  got  so  used  to  wealth,  its  trammels  no  longer  gall 
you.  You  carry  the  weight  of  it,  as  the  horse  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  carried  his  trappings;  it's  second  nature.  And 
you  can  enjoy,  you  can  move,  you  can  feel,  in  spite  of  it. 
You  have  risked  your  soul,  without  knowing  it;  but  you 
have  kept  your  soul !  This  girl,  I  take  it,  is  afraid  to  risk 
her  soul.  She  is  not  in  love  with  Harry  —  worse  luck 
for  Harry !  —  she  is  in  love  —  remember  I  have  talked  to 
her  a  little! — with  something  she  calls  beauty,  with  liberty, 
with  an  mifettered  course  for  the  spirit,  with  all  the 
lovely,  intangible,  priceless  best,  which  the  world  holds  for 
its  true  lovers.  Wealth  grasping  at  that  best  has  a  way  of 
killing  it  —  as  the  child  kills  the  butterfly.     That's  what 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  397 

she's  afraid  of.  As  to  Faversham"  —  he  got  up  from  his 
seat,  and  with  his  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat  began  to  pace 
the  room  — "  Faversham  no  doubt  is  in  a  bad  way.  He's 
on  the  road  to  damnation.  Melrose  of  course  is  damned 
and  done  with.  But  Faversham.?  I  reserve  judgment. 
If  he's  in  love  with  that  girl,  and  she  with  him  —  I  can't 
make  out,  however,  that  you  have  much  reason  to  think 
it  —  but  suppose  he  is,  she'll  have  the  handling  of  him. 
Sha'n't  we  back  her?  " 

He  turned  with  vivacity  to  his  hostess. 

Victoria  laughed  indignantly. 

"You  may  if  you  like.  The  odds  are  too  doubtful  for 
me." 

"That's  because  you're  Harry's  mother!"  he  said  with 
his  sly,  but  most  winning,  smile.  "  Well  —  there's  the  par- 
able —  writ  large.  Mammon  I  —  how  you  get  it  —  how 
you  use  it  —  whether  you  dominate  it  —  or  it  dominates 
you.  Whether  it  is  the  greater  curse,  or  the  greater  bless- 
ing to  men  —  it  was  the  question  in  Christ's  day  —  it's 
the  question  now.  But  it  has  never  been  put  with  such 
intensity,  as  to  this  generation!  As  to  your  particular 
version  of  the  parable — I  wait  to  see!  The  tale's  not 
through  yet." 


A 


xvm 

FEW  days  later,  Lady  Tatham  received  a  letter, 
which  she  opened  with  some  agitation.  It  was 
from  Lydia  in  London: 


"  Dear  Lady  Tatham  : 

"I  have  waited  some  weeks  before  writing  to  you, 
partly  because,  as  Susy  I  hear  has  told  you,  I  have  been 
busy  nursing  my  mother's  sister,  but  still  more  because 
my  heart  failed  me  —  again  and  again. 

"And  yet  I  feel  I  ought  to  write  —  partly  in  justice  to 
myself  —  partly  to  ask  you  to  forgive  the  pain  I  fear 
I  may  have  caused  you.  I  know  —  for  he  has  told  me  — 
that  Lord  Tatham  never  concealed  from  you  all  that  has 
passed  between  us;  and  so  I  feel  sure  that  you  know  what 
happened  about  a  month  ago,  when  we  agreed  that  it 
would  be  wiser  not  to  meet  again  for  the  present. 

"I  don't  exactly  want  to  defend  myself.  It  still  seems 
to  me  true  that,  in  the  future,  men  and  women  will  find  it 
much  more  possible  to  be  comrades  and  friends,  without 
any  thought  of  falling  in  love  or  marrying,  than  they  do 
now;  and  that  it  will  be  a  good  thing  for  both.  And  if  it 
is  true,  are  not  some  of  us  justified  in  making  experiments 
now?  Lord  Tatham  I  know  will  have  told  you  I  was  quite 
frank  from  the  beginning.  I  did  not  wish  to  marry;  but  I 
meant  to  be  a  very  true  friend;  and  I  wanted  to  be  allowed 
to  love  you  both,  as  one  loves  one's  friends,  and  to  share 
your  life  a  little.  And  the  thing  I  most  wished  was  that 
Lord  Tatham  should  marry  —  some  one  quite  different 
from  myself. 

398 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  399 

"So  we  agreed  that  we  would  write,  and  share  each 
other's  feelings  and  thoughts  as  far  as  we  could.  And 
I  hoped  that  any  other  idea  w  ith  regard  to  me  would  soon 
pass  out  of  Lord  Tatham's  mind.  I  did  —  most  sincere!}'; 
and  I  think  he  believes  that  I  did.  How  good  and  dear  he 
always  was  to  me!  —  how  much  I  have  learnt  from  him! 
And  yet  I  am  afraid  it  was  all  very  bhnd,  and  ill-considered 

—  perhaps  very  selfish  —  on  my  part.  I  did  not  under- 
stand what  harm  I  might  do;  though  I  hope  with  all  my 
heart  —  and  believe  —  that  I  have  not  done  anything 
irreparable.  It  is  very  hard  for  me  to  regret  it;  because 
all  my  life  I  shall  be  the  richer  and  the  wiser  for  having 
known  so  good  a  man;  one  so  true,  so  unselfish,  so  high- 
minded.  Women  so  rarely  come  to  know  men,  except  in 
marriage,  or  through  books;  and  your  son's  character  has 
sweetened  and  ennobled  whole  sides  of  life  for  me  —  for- 
ever. 

"But  if  —  in  return  —  I  have  given  him  pain  —  and 
you,  who  love  him !  I  was  always  afraid  of  you  —  but  I 
would  have  done  anything  in  the  world  to  serve  you.  Will 
you  let  me  have  a  little  word  —  just  to  tell  me  that  you 
forgive,  and  understand.     I  ask  it  with  a  very  sore  heart 

—  full,  full  of  gratitude  to  him  and  to  you,  for  all  your 
goodness." 

Victoria  was  oddly  affected  by  this  letter.  It  both 
touched  and  angered  her.  She  was  touched  by  w^hat  it 
said,  deeply  touched;  and  angered  by  what  it  omitted. 
And  yet  how  could  the  writer  have  said  anything  more !  — 
or  anything  else!  Victoria  admitted  that  her  thoughts 
had  run  far  beyond  what  she  knew  —  in  any  true  sense  — 
or  had  any  right  to  conjecture.  Nevertheless  the  fact  in 
her  behef  remained  a  fact,  that  but  for  Faversham  and 
some  disastrous  influence  he  had  gained  over  her  almost  at 
once,  Harry  would  have  had  his  chance  with  Lydia  Pen- 


400  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

fold.  As  it  was,  she  had  been  allowing  Harry  to  offer  her 
his  most  intimate  thoughts  and  feelings,  while  she  was 
actually  falling  in  love  with  his  inferior.  This  was  what 
enraged  Victoria.  Whatever  Cyril  Boden  might  say,  it 
seemed  to  her  maternal  jealousy  something  equivalent  to 
the  betrayal  of  a  sacred  confidence. 

Yet  clearly  she  could  not  say  so  to  Lydia  Penfold  — 
nor  could  Lydia  confess  it!     She  wrote  as  follows: 

"My  DRA.R  Miss  Penfold: 

"It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  write  to  me.  I  am  sure 
you  meant  no  harm,  and  I  do  not  pretend  to  judge  another 
person's  conduct  by  what  I  might  myself  have  thought 
wisest  or  best.  But  I  think  we  all  have  to  learn  that  the 
deepest  feelings  in  life  are  very  .sensitive,  and  very  in- 
calculable things;  and  that  the  old  traditions  and  con- 
ventions respecting  them  have  probably  much  more  to  say 
for  themselves  than  we  like  to  admit  —  especially  in  our 
youth.  Men  and  women  in  middle  life  may  have  true 
and  intimate  friendships  without  any  thought  of  marriage. 
I  doubt  whether  this  is  possible  for  young  people,  though  I 
know  it  is  the  fashion  nowadays  to  behave  as  though  it 
were.  And  especially  is  it  diflficult  —  or  impossible  — 
where  there  has  been  any  thought  of  love  —  on  either  side. 
For  love  is  the  great,  unmanageable,  explosive  thing,, 
which  cannot  be  tamed  down,  at  a  word,  into  friendship  — 
not  in  youth  at  any  rate.  The  attempt  to  treat  it  as  a 
negligible  quantity  can  only  bring  suffering  and  mis- 
understanding. 

"But  I  must  not  preach  to  you  like  this.  I  am  sure  you 
know  —  now  —  that  what  I  say  has  truth  in  it.  Thank 
you  again  for  the  feeling  that  dictated  your  letter.  Harry 
is  very  well  and  very  busy.  We  hoped  to  go  to  London 
before  Christmas,  but  this  most  difficult  and  unhappy 
affair  of   Mrs.   Melrose   and  her   daughter  detains  us. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  401 

Whether  we  shall  obtain  justice  for  them  in  the  end  I  do 
not  know.  At  present  the  adverse  influences  are  very 
strong  —  and  the  indignation  of  all  decent  people  seems 
to  make  no  difference.  Mr.  Faversham's  position  is 
indeed  difficult  to  understand. 

"  Please  remember  me  kindly  to  your  mother  and  sister. 
Next  year  I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  meet  as  usual.  But 
for  the  present,  as  you  and  Harry  have  agreed,  it  is  better 
not." 

Victoria  was  extremely  dissatisfied  with  this  letter  when 
she  had  done  it.  But  she  knew  very  well  that  Harry 
would  have  resented  a  single  harsh  word  from  her  toward 
the  misguided  Lydia;  and  she  did  not  know  how  better  to 
convey  the  warning  that  burnt  on  her  lips  with  regard  to 
Faversham. 

Lydia  received  Victoria's  letter  on  the  day  of  her  return 
to  the  cottage.     Her  mother  remained  in  London. 

Susy  welcomed  her  sister  affectionately,  but  with  the 
sidelong  looks  of  the  observer.  Ever  since  the  evening  oi 
Lady  Tatham's  visit  when  Lydia  had  come  back  with 
white  face  and  red  eyes  from  her  walk  with  Harry  Tatham, 
and  when  the  following  night  had  been  broken  for  Susy  by 
the  sound  of  her  sister's  weeping  in  the  room  next  to  her,  it 
had  been  recognized  by  the  family  that  the  Tatham  affair 
had  ended  in  disaster,  and  that  Duddon  was  henceforth 
closed  to  them.  I^ydia  told  her  mother  enough  to  plunge 
that  poor  lady  into  even  greater  wonder  than  before  at  the 
hopeless  divergence  of  young  people  to-day  from  the  ways 
and  customs  of  their  grandmothers;  and  then  begged 
piteously  that  nothing  more  might  be  said  to  her.     Mrs. 


402  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Penfold  cried  and  kissed  her;  and  for  many  days  tears  fell 
on  the  maternal  knitting  needles,  as  the  fading  vision  of 
Lydia,  in  a  countess'  coronet,  curtesying  to  her  sovereign, 
floated  mockingly  through  the  maternal  mind.  To  Susy 
I>ydia  was  a  little  more  explicit;  but  she  showed  herself  so 
sunk  in  grief  and  self-abasement,  that  Susy  had  not  the 
heart  for  either  probing  or  sarcasm.  It  was  not  a  broken 
heart,  but  a  sore  conscience  —  a  warm,  natural  penitence, 
that  she  beheld.  Lydia  was  not  yet  "splendid,"  and 
Susy  could  not  make  anything  tragic  out  of  her. 

At  least,  on  what  appeared.  And  not  even  Susy's  im- 
patience could  penetrate  beyond  appearance.  She  longed 
to  say,  "Enough  of  the  Tatham  affair  —  now  let  us  come 
to  business.  How  do  you  stand  with  Claude  Faversham  ^  " 
A  number  of  small  indications  pointed  her  subtly,  irre- 
sistibly in  that  direction.  But  the  strength  of  Lydia 's 
personality  stood  guard  over  her  secret  —  if  she  had  one. 

All  Susy  could  do  was  to  give  Lydia  the  gossip  of  the 
neighbourhood,  which  she  did  —  copiously,  including  the 
"cutting"  of  Faversham  at  the  County  Club,  by  Colonel 
Barton  and  others.     Lydia  said  nothing. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  however,  a  letter  arrived 
for  Lydia,  brought  by  messenger  from  Threlfall  Tower. 
Lydia  was  alone  in  the  sitting-room;  Susy  was  writing 
upstairs.     The  letter  ran : 

"  I  hear  you  have  returned  to-day.  May  I  come  and  see 
you  to-morrow  afternoon  —  late.''" 

To  which  Lydia  replied  in  her  firmest  handwriting, 
"Come  by  all  means.     I  shall  be  here  between  five  and 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  403 

six  to-morrow."  After  which  she  went  about  with 
head  erect  and  shining  eyes,  Hke  one  who  has  secretly 
received  and  accepted  a  challenge.  She  was  going  to  sift 
this  matter  for  herself.  Since  a  hurried  note  reporting  the 
latest  news  of  the  Mainstairs  victims,  which  had  reached 
her  from  Faversham  on  the  morning  of  her  departure  for 
London,  she  had  heard  nothing  from  him;  and  during  her 
weeks  of  nursing  in  a  darkened  room,  she  had  sounded  the 
dim  and  perilous  ways  of  her  own  heart  as  best  she  could. 

She  spent  the  following  day  in  sketching  the  Helvellyn 
range,  still  radiant  under  its  first  snow-cap;  sitting  warmly 
sheltered  on  a  southern  side  of  a  wall,  within  sound  of  the 
same  stream  beside  which  she  and  Faversham  had  met  for 
the  first  time  in  the  spring,  amid  the  splendid  hght  and 
colour  of  the  May  sunset. 

And  now  it  was  already  winter.  The  fell-sides  were 
red  with  withered  fern;  their  round  or  craggy  tops  showed 
white  against  a  steely  sky;  down  the  withered  copses  by 
the  stream,  the  north  wind  swept;  a  golden  oak  showered 
its  dead  leaf  upon  her.  Gray  walls,  purple  fells,  the 
brown  and  silver  of  the  stream,  all  the  mountain  detail 
that  she  loved  —  she  drew  it  passionately  into  her  soul. 
Nature  and  art  —  why  had  she  been  so  faithless  to  them 
—  she  "  the  earth's  unwearied  lover.'* "  She  was  miserably, 
ironically  conscious  of  her  weakness;  of  the  gap  between 
her  spring  and  her  autumn. 

On  her  return,  she  told  Susy  quietly  of  her  expected 
visitor.     Susy  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"I  shall  give  him  tea,"  said  Susan,  "just  to  save  the 
proprieties  with  Sarah."  Sarah  was  the  house  parlour- 
maid.    "But  then  you  won't  need  to  give  me  hints." 


404  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Susy  had  departed.  Lydia  and  Faversham  sat  opposite 
each  other  in  the  httle  drawing-room. 

Lydia's  first  impression  on  seeing  him  had  been  one  of 
dismay.  He  looked  much  older;  and  a  certain  remote- 
ness, a  cold  and  nervous  manner  seemed  to  have  taken  the 
place  of  the  responsive  ease  she  remembered.  It  began  to 
cost  her  an  effort  to  remember  the  emotion  of  their  last 
meeting  in  the  Mainstairs  lane. 

But  when  they  were  alone  together,  he  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  leaning  forward  over  the  table  before  them, 
his  face  propped  on  his  hand,  he  looked  at  her  earnestly. 

"I  wonder  what  you  have  been  hearing  about  me.''" 

Lydia  made  a  brave  effort,  and  told  him.  She  repeated 
to  him  the  gist  of  what  Susan  had  reported  the  night 
before,  putting  it  lightly  —  apologetically  —  as  though 
statements  so  extravagant  had  only  to  be  made  to  be 
disproved.  His  mind  meanwhile  was  divided  between 
strained  attention,  and  irrepressible  delight  in  the  spec- 
tacle of  Lydia  enthroned  in  her  mother's  chair,  of  the  pale 
golden  hair  rippling  back  from  the  broad  forehead,  and  the 
clear  eyes  beneath  the  thin  dark  arch  of  the  brows,  so 
delicately  traced  on  the  white  skin;  of  all  the  play  of  ges- 
ture and  expression  that  made  up  her  beauty.  Existence 
for  him  during  these  weeks  of  her  absence  had  largely 
meant  expectation  of  this  moment.  He  had  discounted 
all  that  she  would  probably  say  to  him;  his  replies  were 
ready. 

And  she  no  sooner  paused  than  he  began  an  eager  and 
considered  defence  of  himself.  A  defence  which,  as  he 
explained,  he  had  intended  to  make  weeks  before.  He 
had  called  the  very  day  after  their  hurried  departure 


THE  jVIATING  OF  LYDIA  405 

for  London;  and  having  missed  them,  had  then  decided 
to  wait  till  they  could  talk  face  to  face,  Le  papier  est  bete! 
"I  had  too  much  to  say!" 

Well,  when  he  had  said  it,  to  what  did  it  amount? 
He  claimed  the  right  to  tell  the  whole  story;  and  began 
therefore  by  tracing  the  steps  by  which  he  had  become 
necessary  to  Melrose;  by  describing  his  astonishment 
when  the  offer  of  the  agency  was  made  to  him;  and  the 
sudden  rush  of  plans  and  hopes  for  the  future.  Then, 
by  a  swift  and  effective  digression  he  sketched  the  char- 
acter of  Melrose,  as  he  had  come  to  know  it;  the  ferocity 
of  the  old  man's  will;  his  mad  obstinacy,  in  which  there 
was  always  a  touch  of  fantastic  imagination;  and  those 
alternations  of  solitude  and  excitement,  with  the  inevit- 
able, accompanying  defiance  of  all  laws  of  health,  physical 
and  moral,  which  for  years  had  made  up  his  hfe. 

"Let  us  remember  that  he  is  undoubtedly  a  sick  man. 
He  will  tell  me  nothing  of  what  his  doctors  say  to  him. 
But  I  put  two  and  two  together,  I  don't  believe  he  can 
possibly  hve  long.  A  year  or  two  at  most;  perhaps  much 
less,  WTien  I  accepted  the  agency,  I  confess  I  thought  his 
physical  weakness  would  oblige  him  to  put  the  whole 
management  of  the  estate  into  my  hands.  It  has  not  been 
so.  The  mind,  the  will  are  iron,  whatever  the  physical 
weakness  may  be.  He  conceives  himself  as  a  rock  in  the 
Socialist  torrent,  bound  to  oppose  reforms,  and  conces- 
sions, and  innovations,  just  because  they  are  asked  of  him 
by  a  revolutionary  society.  He  reckons  that  his  Hfe  will 
last  out  his  resistance  —  his  successful  resistance  —  and 
that  he  will  go  down  with  the  flag  flying.  So  that  he  takes 
an  insane  pleasure  in  disappointing  and  thwarting  the 


406  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

public  opinion  about  him.  For  it  is  insane  —  remember 
that!  The  moral  state,  the  moral  judgments,  are  all 
abnormal;  the  will  and  the  brain  are,  so  far  as  liis  main 
pursuits  are  concerned,  still  superb." 

He  paused.  Her  gaze  —  half-shrinking  —  was  fixed  on 
the  face  so  near  to  her;  on  the  profound  and  resolute 
changes  which  had  passed  over  the  features  which  when 
she  first  saw  them  had  still  the  flexibility  of  youth.  The 
very  curls  and  black  hair  lying  piled  above  the  forehead 
in  which  there  were  already  two  distinct  transverse  lines, 
seemed  to  have  grown  harsher  and  stronger. 

"This,  of  course,  is  what  I  discovered  as  soon  as  I  had 
taken  the  agency.  I  did  not  know  my  man  when  I 
accepted.  I  began  to  know  him,  as  soon  as  we  really  came 
to  business.  I  found  him  opposed  to  all  reform  —  in- 
capable even  of  decent  humanity.  Very  well!  Was  I 
to  throw  up.''" 

His  eyes  pierced  into  hers.  Lydia  could  only  murmur: 
"Goon." 

"  Suppose  I  had  thrown  up  I  —  what  would  have  hap- 
pened .-^  The  estate  would  have  sunk,  more  and  more 
lamentably,  into  the  power  of  a  certain  low  attorney  who 
has  been  Melrose's  instrument  in  all  his  worst  doings  for 
years  —  and  of  a  pair  of  corrupt  clerks  in  the  local  office. 
Who  would  have  gained?  Not  a  soul!  On  the  contrary, 
much  would  have  been  lost.  Heaven  knows  I  have  been 
able  to  do  little  enough.  But  I  have  done  something!  — 
I  have  done  something!  —  that  is  what  people  forget." 

He  looked  at  her  passionately;  a  distress  rising  in  his 
eyes,  which  he  could  not  hide.  Was  it  her  silence  —  the 
absence  of  any  cheering,  approving  sound  from  her? 


THE  JVIATING  OF  LYDIA  407 

She  lifted  her  hand,  and  let  it  drop. 

"  Mainstairs ! "  she  said.  It  was  just  breathed  —  a 
cry  of  pain. 

"Yes  —  Mainstairs!  I  know  —  let  us  tackle  Main- 
stairs.  Mainstairs  is  a  horror  —  a  tragedy.  If  I  had 
been  allowed,  I  should  have  set  the  whole  thing  right  a 
couple  of  months  ago;  I  should  have  re-housed  some  of  the 
people,  closed  some  of  the  cottages,  repaired  others.  Mr. 
Melrose  stopped  everything.  There  again  —  what  good 
could  I  do  by  throwing  up.'  I  had  plenty  of  humdrum 
work  elsewhere  that  was  not  being  interfered  with  —  work 
that  will  tell  in  the  long  run.  I  left  Mainstairs  to  Melrose; 
the  responsibility  was  his,  not  mine.  I  went  on  with  what 
I  was  doing.  He  and  the  police  —  thank  heaven !  — 
cleared  the  place." 

"And  in  the  clearing,  Mr.  Melrose,  they  say,  ne^•er 
lifted  a  finger  to  help  —  did  not  even  give  money,"  said 
Lydia  in  the  same  low,  restrained  voice,  as  she  looked 
away  from  her  guest  into  the  fire.  "And  one  sits  thinking 
—  of  all  the  dead  —  that  might  have  been  saved!" 

His  frowning  distress  was  evident. 

"Do  I  not  feel  it  as  much  as  any  one?"  he  said,  with 
emotion.     "  I  was  helpless ! " 

There  was  silence.  Then  Lydia  turned  sharply  toward 
him. 

"Mr.  Faversham!  Is  it  true  that  Mr.  Melrose  has 
made  you  his  heir.'*" 

His  face  changed. 

"Yes  —  it  is  true." 

"And  he  has  refused  to  make  any  provision  for  his 
wife  and  daughter?" 


408  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

"He  has.  And  more  than  that"  —  he  looked  at  her 
with  a  defiant  candour  —  "he  has  tried  to  bind  me  in  his 
will  to  do  nothing  for  them." 

"And  you  have  allowed  it?" 

"I  shall  soon  get  round  that,"  he  said,  scornfully. 
"There  are  a  thousand  ways.  Such  restrictions  are  not 
worth  the  paper  they  are  written  on." 

"And  meanwhile  they  are  living  on  charity.''  And 
Mr.  Melrose,  as  you  say,  may  last  some  years.  I  saw  Mrs. 
Melrose  pass  this  morning  in  a  carriage.  She  looked  like 
a  dying  woman." 

"I  have  done  my  best,"  he  said  doggedly.  'T  have 
argued  —  and  entreated.     To  no  avail!" 

"But  you  are  taking  the  money"  —  the  quiet  intensity 
of  the  tone  affected  him  strangely  —  "the  money,  that 
should  be  theirs  —  the  money  which  has  been  wrung  — 
partly — from  this  wretched  estate.  You  are  accepting  gifts 
and  benefits  from  a  man  you  must  loathe  and  despise! " 

She  was  trembling  all  over.  Her  eyes  avoided  his  as 
she  sat  downcast;  her  head  bent  under  the  weight  of  her 
own  words. 

There  was  silence.  But  a  silence  that  spoke.  For  what 
was  in  truth  the  meaning  of  this  interview  —  of  his 
pleading  —  and  her  agonized,  reluctant  judgment.''  No 
ordinarj^  acquaintance,  no  ordinary  friendship  could  have 
brought  it  about.  Things  unspoken,  feelings  sprung  from 
the  flying  seeds  of  love,  falling  invisible  on  yielding  soil, 
and  growing  up  a  man  knoweth  not  how  —  at  once 
troubled  and  united  them.  The  fear  of  separation  had 
grown,  step  by  step,  with  the  sense  of  attraction  and  of 
yearning.     It  was  because  their  hearts  reached  out  to 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  409 

each  other  that  they  dreaded  so  to  find  some  impassable 
gulf  between  them. 

He  mastered  himself  with  diflSculty. 

"  That  is  one  way  of  putting  it.  Now  let  me  put  it  my 
way.  I  am  a  man  who  has  had  few  chances  in  life  —  and 
great  ambitions  —  which  I  have  never  had  the  smallest 
means  of  satisfying.  I  may  be  the  mere  intriguer  that 
Tatham  and  his  mother  evidently  think  me.  But  I 
am  inclined  to  believe  in  myself.  Most  men  are.  I 
feel  that  I  have  never  had  my  opportunity.  What  is 
this  wealth  that  is  offered  me,  but  an  opportunity?  There 
never  was  so  much  to  be  done  with  wealth  —  so  much 
sheer  living  to  be  got  out  of  it,  as  there  is  to-day.  Luxury 
and  self-indulgence  are  the  mere  abuse  of  wealth.  Wealth 
means  everything  nowadays  that  a  man  is  most  justified 
in  desiring !  —  supposing  he  has  the  brains  to  use  it.  That 
at  any  rate  is  my  behef.  It  always  has  been  my  belief. 
Trust  me  —  that  is  all  I  ask  of  my  friends.  Give  me  time. 
If  Mr.  Melrose  were  to  die  soon  —  immediately  —  I 
should  be  able  all  the  quicker  to  put  everything  to  rights. 
But  if  his  death  is  delayed  a  year  or  two  —  my  life  indeed 
will  be  a  dog's  life "  —  he  spoke  with  sudden  emotion  — 
"  but  the  people  on  the  estate  will  not  be  the  worse,  but  the 
better,  for  my  being  there;  and  in  the  end  the  power  will 
come  to  me  —  and  I  shall  use  it.  So  long  as  Melrose 
lives  his  wife  and  daughter  can  get  nothing  out  of  him, 
whether  I  am  there  or  not.  His  obstinacy  is  immovable, 
as  Lady  Tatham  has  found,  and  when  he  dies,  their 
interests  will  be  safe  with  me." 

Lydia  had  grown  very  pale.  The  man  before  her 
seemed  to  her  Faversham,  yet  not  Faversham.     Some 


410  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

other  personality,  compounded  of  all  those  ugly,  sophistic 
things  that  lurk  in  every  human  character,  seemed  to  be 
wresthng  with,  obscuring  the  real  man. 

"And  the  years  till  this  stage  comes  to  an  end?"  she 
asked  him.  "When  every  day  you  have  to  do  what  you 
feel  to  be  wrong.''  —  to  obey  —  to  be  at  the  beck  and  call 
of  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Melrose.''  —  hateful  —  cruel  — 
tyrannical !  —  when  you  must  silence  all  that  is  generous 
and  noble " 

Her  voice  failed  her. 

Faversham's  lips  tightened.  They  remained  looking 
at  each  other.  Then  Faversham  rose  suddenly.  He 
stooped  over  her.  She  heard  his  voice,  hoarse  and  broken 
in  her  ears: 

"Lydia  —  I  love  you!  —  I  love  you  —  with  all  my 
heart !  —  and  all  my  strength !  Don't,  for  God's  sake,  let 
us  make  believe  with  each  other!  And  —  I  believe,"  he 
added,  after  a  moment,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  I  believe  —  that 
you  love  me!" 

His  attitude,  his  manner  were  masterful  —  violent.  She 
trembled  under  it.     He  tried  to  take  her  hand. 

"Speak  to  me!"  he  said,  peremptorily.  "Oh,  my 
darling  —  speak  to  me !  I  only  ask  you  to  trust  to  me  — 
to  be  guided  by  me " 

She  withdrew  her  hand.  He  could  see  her  heart  flutter- 
ing under  the  soft  curves  of  the  breast. 

"I  can't  — I  can't!" 

The  words  were  said  with  anguish.  She  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

"Because  I  won't  do  what  you  wish.?  What  is  it  you 
wish?" 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  411 

They  had  come  to  the  deciding  moment. 

She  looked  up,  recovermg  self-control,  her  heart  rushing 
to  her  lips. 

"Give  it  up!"  she  said,  stretching  out  her  hands  to  him, 
her  head  thrown  back,  all  her  delicate  beauty  one  prayer. 
"Don't  touch  this  money!  It  is  stained  —  it  is  corrupt. 
You  lose  your  honour  in  taking  it  —  and  honour  —  is  life. 
What  does  money  matter  .f*  The  great  things  that  make 
one  happy  have  nothing  to  do  with  money.  They  can  be 
had  for  so  little!  And  if  one  loses  them  —  honour  and 
self-respect  —  and  a  clear  conscience  —  how  can  money 
make  up !  If  I  were  to  marry  you  —  and  we  had  to  hve 
on  Mr.  Melrose's  money  —  everji:hing  in  life  would  be 
poisoned  for  me.  I  should  always  see  the  faces  —  of  those 
dead  people  —  whom  I  loved.  I  should  hear  theu*  voices 
—  accusing.  We  should  be  in  slavery  —  slavery  to  a  bad 
man  —  and  our  souls  would  die " 

Her  voice  dropped  —  drowned  in  the  passion  of  its 
ov^Ti  entreaty. 

Faversham  pressed  her  hands,  released  them,  and 
slowly  straightened  himself  to  his  full  height,  as  he  stood 
beside  her  on  the  hearthrug.  A  vision  rose  and  spread 
through  the  mind.  In  place  of  the  little  sitting-room, 
the  modest  home  of  refined  women  living  on  a  slender 
income,  he  saw  the  great  gallery  at  Threlfall  with  its 
wonderful  contents,  and  the  series  of  marvellous  rooms  he 
had  now  examined  and  set  in  order.  Vividly,  impressively 
the  great  house  presented  itself  to  him  in  memory,  in 
all  its  recovered  grace  and  splendour;  a  treasury  of  art, 
destined  to  be  a  place  of  pilgrimage  for  all  who  adore  that 
lovely  record  of  itself  in  things  subtle  and  exquisite  which 


412  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

the  human  spirit  has  written  on  time.  Often  lately  he 
had  wrung  permission  from  Melrose  to  take  an  Enghsh  or 
foreign  visitor  through  some  of  the  rooms.  He  had 
watched  their  enthusiasm  and  their  ardour.  And  mingled 
with  such  experience,  there  had  been  now  for  months  the 
intoxicating  sense  that  everything  in  that  marvellous  house 
was  potentially  his  —  Claude  Faversham's,  and  would 
all  some  day  come  into  his  hands,  the  hands  of  a  man 
specially  prepared  by  education  and  early  circumstance 
to  enjoy,  to  appreciate. 

And  the  estate.  As  in  a  map,  he  saw  its  green  spread- 
ing acres,  its  multitude  of  farms,  its  possessions  of  all  kind, 
spoilt  and  neglected  by  one  man's  caprice,  but  easily  to  be 
restored  by  the  prudent  care  of  his  successor.  He  realized 
himseK  in  the  future  as  its  owner;  the  inevitable  place 
that  it  would  give  him  in  the  political  and  social  affairs 
of  the  north.  And  the  estate  was  not  all.  Behind  the 
estate  lay  the  great  untrammelled  fortune  drawn  from 
quite  other  sources  of  wealth;  how  great  he  was  only 
now  beginning  to  know. 

A  great  sigh  shook  him  —  a  sigh  of  decision.  What 
he  had  been  hstening  to  had  been  the  quixotism  of  a  tender 
heart,  ignorant  of  life  and  affairs,  and  all  the  wider  possi- 
bilities open  to  man's  will.  He  could  not  yield.  In  time 
she  must  be  the  one  to  yield.  And  she  would  yield.  Let 
him  wait,  and  be  patient.  There  were  many  ways  in 
which  to  propitiate,  to  work  upon  her. 

He  looked  down  upon  her  gravely,  his  dark  pointed 
face  quivering  a  httle.  Instinctively  she  drew  back. 
Her  expression  changed. 

"I  can't  do  that."     His  voice  was  low  but  firm.     "I 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  413 

feel  the  call  to  me.  And  after  all,  Melrose  has  claims  on 
me.  To  me,  personally,  his  generosity  —  has  been  in- 
credible.    He  is  old  —  and  ill.     I  must  stay  by  him." 

Her  mind  cried  out,  "Yes  —  but  on  your  own  terms, 
not  his!" 

But  she  did  not  say  it.  Ker  pride  came  to  her  aid. 
She  sprang  up,  a  glittering  animation  flashing  back  into 
her  face,  transforming  its  softness,  its  tenderness. 

"I  understand  —  I  quite  understand.  Thank  you  for 
being  so  plain  —  and  bearing  with  my  —  strange  ideas. 
Now  —  I  don't  think  we  can  be  of  any  further  use  to  each 
other  —  though  — "  she  clasped  her  hands  involuntarily  — 
"I  shall  always  hope  and  pray " 

She  did  not  finish.     He  broke  into  a  cry. 

"Lydia!  you  send  me  away.-*" 

"  I  don't  accept  your  conditions  —  nor  you  mine. 
There  is  no  more  to  be  said." 

He  looked  at  her  sombrely,  remorse  struggling  with 
his  will.  But  also  anger  —  the  anger  of  a  naturally 
arrogant  temperament  —  that  he  should  find  her  so 
resistant. 

"If  you  loved  me " 

"Ah  —  no,"  she  shook  her  head  fiercely,  the  bright 
tears  in  her  eyes;  "don't  let's  talk  of  love!  That  has 
nothing  to  say  to  it." 

She  turned,  and  took  up  a  piece  of  embroidery  lying  on 
a  table  near.  He  accepted  the  indication,  turning  very 
white.     But  still  he  lingered. 

"Is  there  nothing  I  could  say  that  woiJd  alter  your 
mind.'" 

"I  am  afraid  —  nothing." 


414  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

She  gave  him  her  hand.  He  scarcely  dared  to  press  it ; 
she  had  become  suddenly  so  strong,  so  hostile.  Her 
light  beauty  had  turned  as  it  were  to  fire;  one  saw  the 
flame  of  the  spirit. 

A  tumult  of  thoughts  and  regTets  rushed  through  him. 
But  things  inexorable  held  him.  With  a  long,  lingering 
look  at  her,  he  turned  and  went. 

A  little  later,  Susy  entering  timidly  found  Lydia  sitting 
alone  in  a  room  that  was  nearly  dark.  Some  instinct 
guided  her.  She  came  in,  took  a  stool  beside  her  sister, 
and  leant  her  head  against  Lydia's  knee,  Lydia  said 
nothing,  but  their  hands  joined,  and  for  long  they  sat  in 
the  firelight,  the  only  sounds,  Lydia's  stifled  sobbing,  and 
the  soft  crackling  of  a  dying  flame. 


BOOK  IV 


XIX 

TATHAM  was  returning  alone  from  a  run  with  the 
West  Cumbrian  hounds.  The  December  day 
was  nearly  done,  and  he  saw  the  pageant  of  its 
going  from  a  point  on  the  outskirts  of  his  own  park.  The 
park,  a  great  space  of  wild  land  extending  some  miles  to 
the  north  through  a  sparsely  peopled  county,  was  bounded 
and  intersected  throughout  its  northerly  section  by 
various  high  moorland  roads.  At  a  cross-road,  leading  to 
Duddon  on  the  left,  and  to  a  remote  valley  running  up  the 
eastern  side  of  Blencathra  on  the  right,  he  reined  up  his 
horse  to  look  for  a  moment  at  the  sombre  glow  which  held 
the  western  heaven;  amid  which  the  fells  of  Thirlmere 
and  Derwentwater  stood  superbly  ranged  in  threatening 
blacks  and  purples.  To  the  east  and  over  the  waste  of 
Flitterdale,  that  great  flat  "moss"  in  which  the  mountains 
die  away,  there  was  the  prophecy  of  moonrise;  a  pearly 
radiance  in  the  air,  a  peculiar  whiteness  in  the  mists  that 
had  gathered  along  the  river,  a  silver  message  in  the  sky. 
But  the  wind  was  rising,  and  the  westerly  clouds  rushing 
up.  The  top  of  Blencathra  was  already  hidden;  it  might 
be  a  wild  night. 

Only  one  luminous  point  was  to  be  seen,  at  first,  in  all 
the  wide  and  splendid  landscape.  It  shone  from  Threlfall 
Tower,  a  dark  and  indistinguishable  mass  amid  its  hang- 
ing woods. 

417 


418  THE  iVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Old  Melrose  —  counting  out  his  money!" 

But  as  the  scornful  fancy  crossed  his  mind,  a  few 
other  dim  and  scattered  hghts  began  to  prick  the  gloom 
of  the  fast-darkening  valley.  That  twinkle  far  away,  in 
the  direction  of  St.  John's  Vale,  might  it  not  be  the  light 
of  Green  Cottage  —  of  Lydia's  lamp.f^ 

He  sat  his  horse,  motionless,  consumed  with  longing 
and  grief.  Yet,  hard  exercise  in  the  open  air,  always 
seemed  to  bring  him  a  kind  of  physical  comfort,  "It  was 
a  jolly  run!"  he  thought,  yet  half  ashamed.  His  young 
blood  was  in  love  with  hfe,  through  all  heartache. 

Suddenly,  a  whirring  sound  from  the  road  on  his  right, 
and  the  flash  of  moving  lamps.  He  saw  that  a  small 
motor  was  approaching,  and  his  mare  began  to  fidget. 

"Gently,  old  girl!" 

The  motor  approached  and  slowed  at  the  corner. 

"Hallo  Undershaw!  is  that  you.-*" 

The  motor  stopped  and  Undershaw  jumped  out,  and 
turned  off  his  engine.     Tatham's  horse  was  pirouetting. 

"All  right,"  said  Undershaw;  "I'U  walk  by  you  a  bit. 
Turn  her  up  your  road." 

The  beautiful  mare  quieted  down,  and  presently  the 
two  were  in  close  talk,  while  the  motor  left  to  itself 
blazed  on  the  lonely  moorland  road. 

Undershaw  was  describing  a  visit  he  had  paid  that 
morning  to  old  Brand,  the  bailiff,  who  was  now  quietly 
and  uncomplainingly  losing  hold  on  life. 

"He  may  go  any  time  —  perhaps  to-night.  The  elder 
son's  departure  has  finished  him.  I  told  the  lad  that  if 
he  cared  to  stay  till  liis  father's  death,  you  would  see  that 
he  got  work  meanwhile  on  the  estate;  but  he  was  wild  to 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  419 

go  —  not  a  scrap  of  filial  affection  that  I  could  make  out! 
—  and  the  poor  old  fellow  has  scarcely  spoken  since  he 
left  the  house.  So  there  he  is,  left  with  the  feeble  old 
wife,  and  the  half-witted  son,  who  grows  queerer  and 
madder  than  ever.  I  needn't  say  the  woman  was  very 
grateful " 

"Don't!"  said  Tatham;  "it's  a  beastly  world." 

They  moved  on  in  silence,  till  Undershaw  resumed: 

"  Dixon  came  to  the  surgery  this  afternoon,  and  I  under- 
stood from  him  that  he  thinks  Melrose  is  breaking  up  fast. 
He  tries  to  live  as  usual;  and  his  temper  is  appalling. 
But  Dixon  sees  a  great  change." 

"Well,  it'll  scarcely  be  pos^le  to  say  that  his  decease 
'cast  a  gloom  over  the  countrywide.'  Will  it?"  laughed 
Tatham.  ' 

"What'll  Faversham  do.?  That's  what  I  keep  asking 
myself." 

"Do.?*  Why,  go  off  with  the  shekels,  and  be  damned  to 
us!  I  understand  that  just  at  present  he's  paying  rather 
high  for  them,  which  is  some  satisfaction.  That  creature 
Nash  told  one  of  our  men  the  other  day  that  Melrose 
now  treats  him  like  dirt,  and  finds  his  chief  amusement  in 
stopping  any  tiling  he  wants  to  do." 

"Then  he'd  better  look  sharp  after  the  will,"  said 
Undershaw,  with  a  smile.  "Melrose  is  game  for  any 
number  of  tricks  yet.  But  I  don't  judge  Faversham  quite 
as  you  do.  I  believe  he  has  all  sorts  of  grand  ideas  in  his 
head  about  what  he'll  do  when  he  comes  in." 

"  I  daresay !  You  need  'em  when  you  begin  with  taking 
soiled  money.  Mrs.  Melrose  got  the  quarterly  payment  of 
her  allowance  yesterday,  from  an  Italian  bank  —  twenty- 


420  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

five  pounds  minus  ten  pounds,  which  seems  to  be  mortgaged 
in  some  way.  Mehose's  soHcitors  gracefully  let  her  know 
that  the  allowance  was  raised  by  twenty  pounds !  On  fifteen 
pounds  therefore  she  and  the  girl  are  expected  to  exist  for 
the  quarter  —  and  support  the  old  father.  And  yesterday 
just  after  my  mother  had  shown  me  the  check,  I  saw 
Faversham  in  Pengarth,  driving  a  Rolls-Royce  car,  brand- 
new,  with  a  dark  fellow  beside  him  whom  I  know  quite 
well  as  a  Bond  Street  dealer.  I  conclude  Faversham  was 
taking  him  to  see  the  collections  —  his  collections ! " 

"It  looks  ugly  I  grant.  But  I  believe  he'll  provide  for 
the  girl  as  soon  as  he  can." 

"And  I  hope  she'll  refuse  it!"  cried  Tatham.  "And 
I  believe  she  will.  She's  a  girl  of  spirit.  She  talks  of 
going  on  the  stage.  My  mother  has  found  out  that  she's 
got  a  voice,  and  she  dances  divinely.  My  mother's 
actually  got  a  teacher  for  her  from  London,  whom  we 
put  up  in  the  village." 

"A  lovely  little  girl!"  said  Undershaw.     "And  she's 

getting  over  her  hardships.     But  the  mother "     He 

shook  his  head. 

"You  think  she's  in  a  bad  way.'" 

"Send  her  back  to  Italy  as  soon  as  you  can.  She's  pin- 
ing for  her  own  people.  Life's  been  a  bit  too  hard  for  her, 
and  she  never  was  but  a  poor  thing.     Well,  I  must  go." 

Tatham  stayed  his  horse.  Undershaw,  added  as  though 
by  an  afterthought: 

"I  was  at  Green  Cottage  this  morning.  Mrs.  Penfold's 
rather  knocked  up  with  nursing  her  sister.  She  chattered 
to  me  about  Faversham.  He  used  to  be  a  good  deal  there 
But  they've  broken  with  him  too;  apparently,  because 


THE  ]VL\TIXG  OF  L\T)IA  421 

of  Mainstairs.  Miss  Lydia  couldn't  stand  it.  She  was  so 
devoted  to  the  people." 

The  man  on  horseback  made  some  inaudible  reply,  and 
they  began  to  talk  of  a  couple  of  sworn  inquiries  about  to 
be  held  on  the  Threlfall  estate  by  the  officials  of  the  Local 
Government  Board,  into  the  housing  and  sanitation  of 
three  of  the  chief  villages  on  Melrose's  property.  The 
department  had  been  induced  to  move  by  a  committee  of 
local  gentlemen,  in  which  Tatham  had  taken  a  leading 
part.  The  whole  affair  had  reduced  itself  indeed  so  far 
to  a  correspondence  duel  between  Tatham,  as  representing 
a  scandalized  neighbourhood,  and  Faversham,  as  repre- 
senting Melrose. 

Tatham's  letters,  in  which  a  man,  with  no  natural  gift 
for  the  pen,  had  developed  a  surprising  amount  of  effective 
sarcasm,  had  all  appeared  in  the  local  press;  with  Faver- 
sham's  ingenious  and  sophistical  replies.  Tatham  dis- 
cussed them  now  with  Undershaw  in  a  tone  of  passionate 
bitterness.  The  doctor  said  little.  He  had  his  own 
shrewd  ideas  on  the  situation. 

"VMien  Undershaw  left  him,  Tatham  rode  on,  up  the 
forest  lane,  till  again  the  trees  fell  away,  the  wide  valley 
with  its  boundary  fells  opened  before  him,  and  again  his 
eye  sought  through  the  windy  dusk  for  the  far-gleaming 
light  that  spoke  to  him  of  Lydia.  His  mind  was  fuU  of 
fresh  agitation,  stirred  by  Undershaw's  remark  about  her. 
The  idea  of  a  breach  between  Lydia  and  Faversham  was 
indeed  most  welcome,  since  it  seemed  to  restore  Lydia  to 
that  pedestal  from  which  it  had  been  so  hard  and  strange 
to  see  her  descend.     It  gave  him  back  the  right  to  worship 


42^2  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

her!  And  yet,  the  notion  did  nothing  —  now  —  to  revive 
any  hope  for  himself.  He  kept  the  distant  light  in  view 
for  long,  his  heart  full  of  a  tenderness  which,  though  he  did 
not  know  it,  had  already  parted  with  much  of  the  bitter- 
ness of  unsatisjfied  passion.  Unconsciously,  the  healing 
process  was  on  its  way;  the  healing  of  the  normal  man,  on 
whom  a  wound  is  no  sooner  inflicted  than  all  the  repara- 
tive powers  of  hfe  rush  together  for  its  cure. 

But  while  Tatham,  wrapped  in  thoughts  of  Lydia,  was 
thus  drawing  homeward,  across  the  higher  ground  of  the 
estate,  down  through  the  Duddon  woods,  as  they  fell 
gently  to  the  river,  a  httle  figure  was  hurrying,  with  the 
step  of  a  fugitive,  and  half-nervous,  half-exultant  looks 
from  side  to  side.  The  moon  had  risen.  It  was  not  dark 
in  the  woods,  and  Felicia,  amid  the  boschi  of  the  Apuan 
Alps,  had  never  been  frightened  of  the  night  or  of  any  ill 
befaUing  her.  In  Lucca  itself  she  might  be  insulted;  on 
the  hills,  never.  She  had  the  independence,  and  — 
generally  speaking  —  the  strength  of  the  working  girl.  So 
that  the  enterprise  on  which  she  was  launched  —  the 
quest  of  her  father  —  presented  itself  to  her  as  nothing 
particularly  difficult.  She  had  indeed  to  keep  it  from  her 
mother  and  Lady  Tatham,  and  to  find  means  of  escaping 
them.  That  she  calmly  took  steps  to  do,  not  bothering 
her  head  much  about  it. 

As  to  the  rest  of  the  business,  there  was  a  station  on  the 
Keswick  line  close  to  the  gate  of  the. park,  and  she  had 
looked  out  a  train  which  would  take  her  conveniently  to 
Whitebeck,  which  was  only  half  a  mile  from  Threlfall. 
From  Duddon  to  Whitebeck  took  eight  minutes  in  the 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  423 

train.  She  would  be  at  Whitebeck  a  little  after  five; 
allowing  an  hour  for  her  adventure  at  the  Tower,  and 
some  little  margin,  she  would  catch  a  train  back  between 
six  and  seven,  which  would  allow  of  her  slipping  into 
Duddon  a  httle  after  seven,  unnoticed,  and  in  good 
time  to  dress  for  dinner.  Her  Italian  blood  betrayed 
itself  throughout,  alike  in  the  keen  pleasure  she  took 
in  the  various  devices  of  her  small  plot;  in  the  entire 
absence  of  any  hampering  scruples  as  to  the  disobedience 
and  deceit  which  it  involved;  and  in  the  practical  intelli- 
gence wath  which  she  was  ready  to  carry  it  out.  She  had 
brooded  over  it  for  days;  and  this  afternoon  a  convenient 
opportunity  had  arisen.  Her  mother  was  in  her  room  with 
a  headache;  Lady  Tatham  had  had  to  go  to  Carlisle  on 
business. 

As  she  hastened,  almost  running,  through  the  park, 
she  was  plaiming,  by  fits  and  starts,  what  she  would 
say  to  her  father.  But  still  more  was  the  thinking  of 
Tatham  —  asking  herself  questions  about  him,  with 
little  thrills  of  excitement,  and  little  throbbings  of  de- 
licious fear. 

Here  she  was,  at  the  gate  of  the  park.  Just  ten  minutes 
to  her  train!  She  hurried  on.  A  few  labourers  were  iu 
the  road  coming  home  tired  from  their  work;  a  few 
cottage  doors  were  ajar,  showing  the  bright  fire,  and  the 
sprawling  children  within.  Some  of  the  men  as  they 
passed  looked  with  curiosity  at  the  slim  stranger;  but  she 
was  well  muffled  up  in  her  new  furs  —  Victoria's  gift  — 
and  her  large  felt  hat;  they  saw  little  more  than  the  tips 
of  her  small  nose  and  chin. 

The  train  came  in  just  as  she  reached  the  station.     She 


424  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

took  her  ticket  for  Whitebeck,  and  as  the  train  jogged 
along,  she  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  valley  in  the 
dim  moonrise,  her  mind  w^orking  tumultuously.  Lady 
Tatham  had  told  her  much;  Hesketh,  Lady  Tatham's 
maid,  and  the  old  coachman  who  had  been  teaching  her  to 
ride,  had  told  her  more.  She  knew  that  before  she  reached 
Whitebeck  she  would  have  passed  the  boundary  between 
the  Duddon  and  ThreKall  estates.  She  was  now  indeed 
on  her  father's  land,  the  land  which  in  justice  ought  to  be 
hers  some  day;  which  in  Italy  would  be  hers  by  law,  or 
part  of  it  anyway,  whatever  pranks  her  father  might  play. 
But  here  in  England  a  man  might  rob  his  child  of  every 
penny  if  he  pleased.  That  was  strange  when  England 
was  such  a  great  country  —  such  a  splendid  country.  'T 
love  England!"  she  thought  passionately,  as  she  leant 
back  with  folded  arms  and  closed  eyes. 

And  straightway  on  the  dusk  rose  the  image  of  Tatham 

—  Tatham  on  horseback,  as  she  had  seen  him  set  out  for 
the  hunt  that  morning;  and  she  felt  her  eyes  grow  a  little 
wet.  Why?  Oh !  because  he  was  so  tall  and  splendid  — 
and  he  sat  his  horse  like  a  king  —  and  everybody  loved 
him  —  and  she  was  living  in  his  house  —  and  so,  whether 
he  would  or  no,  he  must  take  notice  of  her  sometimes. 
One  evening  had  he  not  let  her  mend  his  glove?  And 
another  evening,  when  she  was  practising  her  dancing  for 
Lady  Tatham,  had  he  not  come  in  to  look?  Ah,  well, 
wait  till  she  could  sing  and  dance  properly,  till  —  perhaps 

—  he  saw  her  on  the  stage !  Her  newly  discovered  singing 
voice,  which  was  the  excitement  of  the  moment  for  Lady 
Tatham  and  Netta,  was  to  Felicia  like  some  fairy  force 
within  her,  struggling  to  be  at  large,  which  would  some 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  425 

day  carve  out  her  fortunes,  and  bring  her  to  Tatham  — 
on  equal  terms. 

For  her  pride  had  flourished  and  fed  upon  her  love.  She 
no  longer  talked  of  Tatham  to  her  mother  or  any  one  else. 
But  deep  in  her  heart  lay  the  tenacious,  pursuing  instinct. 

And  besides  —  suppose  —  she  made  an  impression  on 
her  father  —  on  his  cruel  old  heart.''  Such  things  do  hap- 
pen. It's  silly  to  say  they  don't.  "I  am  pretty  —  and 
now  my  clothes  are  all  right  —  and  my  hands  have  come 
nearly  white.  He'll  see  I'm  not  a  girl  to  be  ashamed  of. 
And  if  my  father  did  give  me  a  dot  —  why  then  I'd  send 
my  mother  to  his  mother!  That's  how  we'd  do  it  in  Italy. 
I'm  as  well-born  as  he  —  nearly  —  and  if  I  had  a  dot " 

The  yellow-haired  girl  at  any  rate  was  quite  out  of  the 
way.  No  one  spoke  of  her;  no  one  mentioned  her.  That 
was  all  right. 

And  as  to  Threlfall  and  her  father,  if  she  was  able  to 
soften  him  at  all  it  would  not  be  in  the  least  necessary  to 
drive  that  bad  young  man,  Mr.  Faversham,  to  despair. 
Compromise  —  bargaining  —  settle  most  things.  She  fell 
to  imagining  —  with  a  Latin  clearness  and  realism  —  how 
it  might  be  handled.  Only  it  would  have  to  be  done 
before  her  father  died.  For  if  Mr.  Faversham  once  took 
all  the  money  and  all  the  land,  there  would  be  no  dot  for 
her,  even  if  he  were  willing  to  give  it  her.  For  Lord 
Tatham  would  never  take  a  farthing  from  Mr.  Faversham, 
not  even  through  his  wife.  "And  so  it  would  be  no  use  to 
me,"  thought  Felicia,  quietly,  but  regretfully. 

Whitebeck  station.  Out  she  tripped,  asked  her  way  to 
Threlfall,  and  hurried  off  into  the  dark,  followed  by  the 
curious  looks  of  the  station-master. 


426  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

She  was  soon  at  the  park  gate,  and  passed  through  it 
with  a  beating  heart.  She  had  heard  of  the  bloodhounds; 
and  the  sound  of  a  bark  in  the  distance  —  though  it  was 
only  the  collie  at  the  farm  —  gave  her  a  start  of  terror. 

The  Whitebeck  gate  was  but  a  short  distance  from  the 
house,  and  as  she  turned  a  corner,  the  Tower  rose  suddenly 
before  her.  She  held  her  breath;  it  looked  so  big,  so 
darkly  magnificent.  She  thought  of  all  the  tales  that  had 
been  told  her,  the  rooms  full  of  silver  and  gold  —  the 
arazzi  —  the  stucchi  —  the  cabinets  and  sculpture.  She 
had  grown  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  perpetual  bric-a-brac; 
she  had  seen  the  big  Florentine  shops;  she  could  imagine 
what  it  was  like. 

There  were  lights  in  two  of  the  windows;  and  the 
smoke  from  several  chimneys  rose  wind-beaten  against  the 
woods  behind.  The  moon  stood  immediately  over  the 
roof,  and  the  shadow  of  the  house  stretched  beyond  the 
forecourt  almost  to  her  feet. 

She  lingered  a  few  minutes,  fascinated,  gazing  at  this 
huge  place  where  her  father  lived  —  her  father  whom  she 
had  never  seen  since  she  was  a  baby.  The  moon  lit  up  her 
tiny  figure,  and  her  small  white  face,  as  she  stood  in  the 
open,  alone  in  the  wintry  silence. 

Then,  swiftly,  and  instead  of  going  up  to  the  front  door, 
she  turned  to  the  right  along  a  narrow  flagged  path  that 
skirted  the  forecourt  and  led  to  the  back  of  the  house. 

She  knew  exactly  what  to  do.  She  had  planned  it  all 
with  Hesketh,  Hesketh,  who  was  the  daughter  of  a  farmer 
on  the  Duddon  estate,  fifty  years  old,  a  born  gossip,  and 
acquainted  with  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  the 
neighbourhood.     Did  not  Hesketh  go  to  the  same  chapel 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  427 

with  Thomas  Dixon  and  his  wife?  And  had  she  not  a 
romantic  soul,  far  above  furbelows  —  a  soul  which  had 
flung  itself  into  the  cause  of  the  "heiress,"  to  the  point  of 
keeping  the  child's  secret,  even  from  her  ladyship?  Hes- 
keth  indeed  had  suffered  sharply  from  qualms  of  conscience 
in  this  respect.  But  Felicia  had  spared  her  as  much  as 
possible,  by  keeping  the  precise  moment  of  her  escapade  to 
herself. 

She  groped  her  way  round,  till  she  came  to  a  side  path 
leading  to  an  entrance.  The  path  indeed  was  that  by 
which  Faversham  had  been  originally  carried  into  the 
Tower,  across  the  foot-bridge.  Peering  over  a  low  wall 
that  bounded  the  path,  she  looked  startled  into  an  abyss 
of  leafless  trees,  with  a  bright  gleam  of  moonlit  water  far 
below.  In  front  of  her  was  a  door  and  steps,  and  some 
rays  of  light  penetrating  through  the  shuttered  windows 
beside  the  door,  showed  that  there  was  life  within. 

Felicia  mounted  the  steps  and  knocked.  No  one  came. 
At  last  she  found  a  bell  and  rang  it  —  cautiously.  Steps 
approached.  The  door  was  opened,  and  a  gray-haired 
woman  stood  on  the  threshold. 

"Well,  what's  your  business?"  she  said  sharply.  It 
was  evident  that  she  was  short-sighted,  and  did  not 
clearly  see  the  person  outside. 

"Please,  I  want  to  speak  to  Mr.  Melrose." 
The  clear,  low  voice  arrested  the  old  woman, 
"Eh?"   she   said   testily.     "And   who   may   you   be? 
You  cawn't  see  Mr.  Melrose,  anyways." 

"  I  want  to  see  him  particularly.     Are  you  Mrs.  Dixon?  " 

"Aye  —  a'am  Mrs.  Dixon.     But  aa've  no  time  to  goa 

chatterin'  at  doors  wi'  yoong  women;  soa  if  yo'll  juist  gie 


428  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

me  yor  business,  I'll  tell  Muster  Faversham,  when  he's 
got  time  to  see  to  't." 

"It's  not  Mr.  Faversham  I  want  to  see  —  it's  Mr.  Mel- 
rose.    Mrs.  Dixon,  don't  you  remember  me?" 

Mrs.  Dixon  stepped  back  in  puzzled  annoyance,  so  as 
to  let  a  light  from  the  passage  shine  upon  the  stranger's 
face.     She  stood  motionless. 

Felicia  stepped  within. 

"I  am  Miss  Melrose,"  she  said,  with  composure, 
"Felicia  Melrose.  You  knew  me  when  I  was  a  child. 
And  I  wish  to  see  my  father." 

Mrs.  Dixon's  face  seemed  to  have  fallen  into  chaos 
under  the  shock.  She  stood  staring  at  the  visitor,  her 
mouth  working. 

"Muster  Melrose's  daater!"  she  said,  at  last.  "T' 
baby  —  as  was !  Aye — yo'  feature  him !  An'  yo're  stayin' 
ower  ta  Duddon  —  mvi  her  ladyship.  I  know.  Dixon 
towd  me.  Bit  yo'  shouldna'  coom  here,  Missie!  Yo' 
canno'  see  your  feyther." 

"WTiy  not?"  said  Fehcia  imperiously.  "I  mean  to  see 
him.     Here  I  am  in  the  house.     Take  me  to  him  at  once ! " 

And  suddenly  closing  the  entrance  door  behind  her,  she 
moved  on  toward  an  inner  passage  dimly  lit,  of  which  she 
had  caught  sight. 

Mrs.  Dixon  clung  to  her  arm. 

"Noa,  noa!  Coom  in  here,  Missie  —  coom  in  here! 
Dixon!  —  where  are  yo'?     Dixon!" 

She  raised  her  voice.  A  chair  was  pushed  back  in  the 
kitchen,  on  the  other  side  of  the  passage.  An  old  man 
who,  to  judge  from  his  aspect,  had  been  roused  by  his 
wife's  call  from  a  nap  after  his  tea,  appeared  in  a  doorway. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  420 

Mrs.  Dixon  drew  Felicia  toward  him,  and  into  the 
kitchen,  as  he  retreated  thither.  Then  she  shut  and 
bolted  the  door. 

"This  is  t' joong  lady!"  she  said  in  a  breathless  whisper 
to  her  husband.  "  Muster-Melrose's  daater !  She's  coom 
fra  Duddon.     An'  she's  fer  seein'  her  feyther." 

Old  Dixon  had  grown  very  pale.  But  otherwise  he 
showed  no  surprise.     He  looked  frowning  at  Felicia, 

"  Yo'  canno'  do  that.  Miss  Melrose.  Yo'r  feyther  wunna 
see  yo'.  He's  an  owd  man  noo,  and  we  darena  disturb 
him." 

Felicia  argued  with  the  pair,  first  quietly,  then  with  a 
heaving  breast,  and  some  angry  tears.  Dixon  soon 
dropped  the  struggle,  so  far  as  words  went.  He  left  that 
to  his  wife.  But  he  stood  firmly  against  the  door,  looking 
on. 

"You  shan't  keep  me  here!"  said  Felicia  at  last  with  a 
stamp.     "I'll  call  some  one!     I'll  make  a  noise ! " 

A  queer,  humorous  look  twinkled  over  Dixon's  face. 
Then  —  suddenly  —  he  moved  from  the  door.  His  expres- 
sion had  grown  hesitating  —  soft. 

"  Varra  well,  then.      Yo'  shall  goa  —  if  you  mun  goa." 

His  wife  protested.     He  turned  upon  her. 

"She  shall  goa!"  he  repeated,  striking  the  dresser 
beside  him.  "Her  feyther's  an  old  man  —  an'  sick. 
Mebbe  he'll  be  meetm'  his  Maaker  face  to  face,  before  the 
year's  oot;  yo'  canno'  tell.  He's  weakenin'  fasst.  An'  he's 
ben  a  hard  mon  to  his  awn  flesh  and  blood.  There'll  be  a 
reckonin'!  An'  the  Lord's  sent  him  this  yan  chance  o' 
repentance.  I'll  not  stan'  i'  the  Lord's  way  —  whativer. 
Coom  along,  Missie!" 


430  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

And  entirely  regardless  of  his  wife's  entreaties,  the  old 
Methodist  resolutely  opened  the  kitchen  door,  and  beck- 
oned to  Felicia.  He  was  lame  now  and  walked  with  a 
stick,  his  shoulders  bent.  But  he  neither  paused,  nor 
spoke  to  her  again.  Murmuring  to  himself,  he  led  her 
along  the  inner  passage,  and  opened  the  door  into  the 
great  gallery. 

A  blaze  of  light  and  colour,  a  rush  of  heated  air.  Felicia 
was  dazzled  by  the  splendour  of  the  great  show  within — 
the  tapestries,  the  pictures,  the  gleaming  reflections  on 
lacquer  and  intarsia,  on  ebony  or  Sevres.  But  the  atmos- 
phere was  stifling.  Melrose  now  could  only  live  in  the 
temperature  of  a  hothouse. 

Dixon  threw  open  a  door,  and  without  a  word  beckoned 
to  Felicia  to  enter.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  e\'idently  as 
to  whether  he  should  announce  her;  and  then,  stepping 
forward,  he  cleared  his  throat. 

"Muster  Melrose,  theer's  soom  one  as  wants  to  speak  to 
you!" 

"WTiat  do  you  mean,  you  old  fool!"  said  a  deep,  angry 
voice  on  the  other  side  of  a  great  lacquer  screen;  "didn't  I 
tell  you  I  wasn't  to  be  disturbed?" 

Felicia  walked  round  the  screen.  Dixon,  witli  an 
excited  look  at  her,  retired  through  the  door  which  he 
closed  behind  him. 

"Father!"  said  Felicia,  in  a  low,  trembling  voice. 

An  old  man  who  was  writing  at  a  large  inlaid  table, 
in  the  midst  of  a  confusion  of  objects  which  the  girl's 
eyes  had  no  time  to  take  in,  turned  sharply  at  the 
sound. 

The  two  stared  at  each  other.     Melrose  slowly  revolved 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  431 

on  his  chair,  pen  in  hand.  FeHcia  stood,  with  eyes  down- 
cast, her  cheeks  burning,  her  hands  Hghtly  clasped. 

Mehose  spoke  first. 

"H'm  —  so  they've  sent  you  here?" 

She  looked  up. 

"  No  one  sent  me.  I  —  I  wished  to  see  you  —  before  we 
went  away;  because  you  are  my  father  —  and  I  mightn't 
ever  see  you  —  if  I  didn't  now.  And  I  wanted  to  ask 
you"  —  her  voice  quivered  —  "not  to  be  angry  any  more 
with  mother  and  me.  We  never  meant  to  vex  you  —  by 
coming.  But  we  were  so  poor  —  and  mother  is  ill.  Yes, 
she  is  ill !  —  she  is  —  it's  no  shamming.  Won't  you  for- 
give us.''  —  won't  you  give  mother  a  little  more  money.''  — 
and  won't  you"  —  she  clasped  her  hands  entreatingly  — 
"won't  you  give  me  a  £?o^  .^  I  may  want  to  be  married 
—  and  you  are  so  rich.''  And  I  wouldn't  ever  trouble 
you  again  —  I " 

She  broke  off,  intimidated,  paralyzed  by  the  strange 
fixed  look  of  the  old  wizard  before  her  —  his  flowing 
hair,  his  skullcap,  his  white  and  sunken  features.  And 
yet  mysteriously  she  recognized  herself  in  him.  She 
realized  through  every  fibre  that  he  was  indeed  her 
father. 

"You  would  have  done  better  not  to  trouble  me  again ! " 
said  Melrose,  with  slow  emphasis.  "Your  mother  seems 
to  pay  no  attention  whatever  to  what  I  say.  We  shall  see. 
So  you  want  a  dot?  And,  pray,  what  do  you  want  a  dot 
for?     Who's  going  to  marry  you?     Tatham?" 

The  tone  was  more  mocking  than  fierce;  but  Felicia 
shrank  imder  it. 

"Oh,  no,  no!     But  I  might  want  to  marry,"  she  added 


432  THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA 

piteously.  "And  in  Italy  —  one  can't  marry  —  without 
a  dot!'" 

"Your  mother  should  have  thought  of  these  things  when 
she  ran  away." 

Felicia  was  silent  a  moment.  Then,  without  invitation, 
she  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  that  stood  near 
him. 

"That  was  so  long  ago,"  she  said  timidly  —  yet  confid- 
ingly. "And  I  was  a  baby.  Couldn't  you  —  couldn't 
you  forget  it  now?  " 

Melrose  surveyed  her. 

"I  suppose  you  like  being  at  Duddon.'^"  he  asked  her 
abruptly,  vs-ithout  answering  her  question. 

She  clasped  her  hands  fervently. 

"It's  like  heaven!     They're  so  good  to  us." 

"No  doubt!" — the  tone  was  sarcastic.  "Well,  let 
them  provide  for  you.  ^\Tio  gave  you  those  clothes.^ 
Lady  Tatham?" 

She  nodded.  Her  lip  trembled.  Her  startled  eyes 
looked  at  him  piteously. 

"You've  been  living  at  Lucca.'*" 

"Near  Lucca  —  on  the  mountains." 

"H'm.     Is  that  all  true  ^  about  your  grandfather.'" 

"That  he's  ill.?  Of  course,  it's  true!"  she  said  in- 
dignantly. "We  don't  tell  lies.  He's  had  a  stroke  — 
he's  dying.  And  we  could  hardly  give  him  any  food  he 
could  eat.     You  see " 

She  edged  a  little  closer,  and  began  a  voluble,  confiden- 
tial account  of  their  life  in  the  mountains.  Her  voice  was 
thin  and  childish,  but  sweet;  and  every  now  and  then 
she  gave  a  half-frightened,  half -excited  laugh.     Melrose 


THE  ]MATING  OF  LYDIA  433 

watched  her  frowning;  but  he  did  not  stop  her.  Her 
bright  eyes  and  brows,  witli  their  touches  of  velvet  black, 
the  quick  movement  of  her  pink  lips,  the  rose-leaf  delicacy 
of  her  colour,  seemed  to  hold  him.  Among  the  pretty 
things  with  which  the  room  was  crowded  she  was  the 
prettiest;  and  he  probably  was  conscious  of  it.  Propped 
up  against  the  French  bureau  stood  a  Watteau  drawing 
in  red  chalk  —  a  sanguine  —  he  had  bought  in  Paris  on  a 
recent  visit.  The  eyes  of  the  old  connoisseur  went  from 
the  living  face  to  the  drawing,  comparing  them. 

At  last  Felicia  paused.  Her  smiles  died  away.  She 
looked  at  him  wistfully. 

"Mother's  awfully  sorry  she  —  she  offended  you  so. 
Won't  you  forgive  her  now  —  and  poor  Babbo  —  about 
the  Httle  statue?" 

She  hardly  dared  breathe  the  last  words,  as  she  timidly 
dropped  her  eyes. 

There  were  tears  in  her  voice,  and  yet  she  was  not 
very  far  from  hysterical  laughter.  The  whole  scene  was 
so  fantastic  —  ridiculous!  The  room  with  its  lumber;  its 
confusion  of  glittering  things;  this  old  man  frowning  at 
her  —  for  no  reason!  For  after  all  —  what  had  she  done.'* 
Even  the  contadini  —  they  were  rough  often  —  they 
couldn't  read  or  write  —  but  they  loved  their  grand- 
children. 

As  he  caught  her  reference  to  the  bronze  Hermes, 
Melrose's  face  changed.  He  rose,  stretching  out  a  hand 
toward  a  bell  on  the  table. 

"You  must  go!"  he  said,  sharply.  "You  ought  never 
to  have  come.  You'll  get  nothing  by  it.  Tell  your 
mother  so.     This  is  the  second  attack  she  has  made  on 


434  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

me  —  through  her  tools.  If  she  attempts  another,  she 
may  take  the  consequences!" 

Fehcia  too  stood  up.  A  rush  of  anger  and  despair 
choked  her. 

"And  you  won't  —  you  won't  even  say  a  kind  word 
to  me!"  she  said,  panting.     "You  won't  kiss  me.^" 

For  answer,  he  seized  her  by  the  hands,  and  drew  her 
toward  the  hght.  There,  for  a  few  intolerable  seconds  he 
looked  closely,  with  a  kind  of  savage  curiosity,  into  her 
face,  studying  her  features,  her  hair,  her  light  form.  Then 
pushing  her  from  him,  he  opened  that  same  drawer  in  the 
French  cabinet  that  Undershaw  had  once  seen  him  open, 
fumbled  a  little,  and  took  out  something  that  glittered. 

"Take  that.  But  if  you  come  here  again  it  will  be  the 
worse  for  you,  and  for  your  mother.  When  I  say  a  thing 
I  mean  it.    Now,  go!     Dixon  shall  take  you  to  the  train." 

Felicia  glanced  at  the  Renaissance  jewel  in  her  hand  — 
a  delicate  Venus  in  gold  and  pearl,  set  in  a  hoop  of  dia- 
monds. "I  won't  have  it!"  she  said,  dashing  it  from  her 
with  a  sob  of  passion.  "And  we  won't  take  your  money 
either  —  not  a  farthing !  We've  got  friends  who'll  help 
us.  And  I'll  keep  my  mother  myself.  You  shan't  give 
her  anything  —  nor  my  grandfather.  So  you  needn't 
threaten  us!     You  can't  do  us  any  harm!" 

She  looked  him  scornfully  over  from  head  to  foot,  a 
little  fury,  with  blazing  eyes. 

Melrose  laughed. 

"I  thought  you  came  to  get  a  dot  out  of  me,"  he  said, 
with  lifted  brows,  admiring  her  in  spite  of  himself.  "You 
seem  to  have  a  good  spice  of  the  Melrose  temper  in  you. 
I'm  sorry  I  can't  treat  you  as  you  seem  to  wish.      Your 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  435 

mother  settled  that.  Well  —  that'll  do  —  that'll  dot 
We  can't  bandy  words  any  more.     Dixon!" 

He  touched  the  hand-bell  beside  him. 

Felicia  hurried  to  the  door,  sobbing  with  excitement. 
As  she  reached  it  Dixon  entered.  ^Melrose  spoke  a  few 
peremptory  words  to  him,  and  she  found  herself  walking 
through  the  gallery,  Dixon's  hand  on  her  arm,  while  he 
muttered  and  lamented  beside  her. 

"'And  the  Lord  hardened  Pharaoh's  heart.'  Aye,  it's 
the  Lord  —  it's  the  Lord.  Oh !  Missie,  Missie  —  I  was  a 
fool  to  let  yo'  in.  Yo've  been  nowt  but  a  new  stone  o' 
stumblin';  an'  the  Lord  knows  there's  offences  enoof 
already!" 

Meanwhile,  in  the  room  from  which  his  daughter  had 
been  driven,  Melrose  had  risen  from  his  seat,  and  was 
moving  hither  and  thither,  every  now  and  then  taking  up 
some  object  in  the  crowded  tables,  pretending  to  look  at  it, 
and  putting  it  down  again.  He  was  pursued,  tormented 
all  the  while  by  swarming  thoughts  —  visualizations. 
That  child  would  outlive  him  —  her  father  —  perhaps 
by  a  haK  century.  The  flesh  and  blood  sprung  from 
his  own  life,  would  go  on  enjoying  and  adventuring,  for 
fifty  years,  perhaps,  after  he  had  been  laid  in  his  resented 
grave.  And  the  mind  which  would  have  had  no  existence 
had  he  not  lived,  would  hold  till  death  the  remembrance 
of  what  he  had  just  said  and  done  —  a  child's  only  re- 
membrance of  her  father. 

He  stood,  looking  back  upon  his  life,  and  quite  conscious 
of  some  fatal  element  in  the  moment  which  had  just  gone 
by.     It  struck  him  as  a  kind  of  moral  tale.     Some  men 


436  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

would  say  that  God  had  once  more,  and  finally,  offered 
him  "a  place  of  repentance" — through  this  strange  and 
tardy  apparition  of  his  daughter.  A  ghostly  smile  flick- 
ered. The  man  of  the  world  knew  best.  "Let  no  man 
break  with  his  own  character,"  That  was  the  real  text 
which  applied.  And  he  had  followed  it.  Circumstance 
and  his  own  will  had  determined,  twenty  years  earlier, 
that  he  had  had  enough  of  women-kind.  His  dealings 
with  them  had  been  many  and  various!  But  at  a  given 
moment  he  had  put  an  end  to  them  forever.  And  no 
false  sentimentalism  should  be  allowed  to  tamper  with 
the  thing  done. 

At  this  point  he  found  himself  sinking  into  his  chair; 
and  must  needs  confess  himself  somewhat  shaken  by  what 
had  happened.  He  was  angry  with  his  physical  weakness, 
and  haunted  in  spite  of  himself  by  the  hue  and  fragrance 
of  that  youth  he  had  just  been  watching  —  there  —  at 
the  corner  of  the  table  —  beside  the  Watteau  sketch.  He 
sat  staring  at  the  drawing.     .     .     . 

Till  the  threatened  vitality  within  again  asserted  itself; 
beat  off  the  besieging  thoughts;  and  clutched  fiercely  at 
some  new  proof  of  its  own  strength.  The  old  man  raised 
himself,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  telephone  which  con- 
nected his  room  with  that  of  Faversham. 

How,  in  Dixon's  custody,  Felicia  reached  the  station,  and 
stumbled  into  the  train,  and  how,  at  the  other  end,  she 
groped  her  way  into  the  gates  of  Duddon  and  began  the 
long  woodland  ascent  to  the  castle,  Felicia  never  after- 
ward knew.  But  when  she  had  gone  a  few  steps  along  the 
winding  drive  where  the  intermittent  and  stormy  moon- 
light was  barely  enough  to  guide  her,  she  felt  her  strength 


THE  iMATING  OF  LYDIA  437 

suddenly  fail  her.  She  could  never  climb  the  long  hill  to 
the  house  —  she  could  never  fight  the  wind  that  was  rising 
in  her  face.  She  must  sit  down,  till  some  one  came  —  to 
help. 

She  sank  do^ii  upon  a  couch  of  moss,  at  the  foot  of  a 
great  oak-tree  which  was  still  thick  with  withered  leaf. 
The  mental  agitation,  and  the  sheer  physical  fatigue  of  her 
mad  attempt  had  utterly  worn  out  her  barely  recovered 
strength.  "I  shall  faint,"  she  thought,  "and  no  one  will 
know  where  I  ami"  She  tried  to  concentrate  her  will  on 
the  resolution  not  to  faint.  Straightening  her  back  and 
head  against  the  tree,  she  clasped  her  hands  rigidly  on  her 
knee.  From  time  to  time  a  wave  of  passionate  recol- 
lection would  rush  through  her;  and  her  heart  would  beat 
so  fast,  that  again  the  terror  of  sinking  into  some  unknown 
infinite  would  string  up  her  will  to  resistance.  In  this 
alternate  yielding  and  recoil,  this  physical  and  mental 
struggle,  she  passed  minutes  which  seemed  to  her  inter- 
minable.    At  last  resistance  was  all  but  overwhelmed. 

"Come  to  me!  —  oh,  do  come  to  me!" 

She  seemed  to  be  pouring  her  very  life  into  the  cry. 
But,  probably,  the  words  were  only  spoken  in  the  mind. 

A  little  later  she  woke  up  in  bewilderment.  She  was 
no  longer  on  the  moss.  She  was  being  carried  —  carried 
firmly  and  speedily  —  in  some  one's  arms.  She  tried  to 
open  her  eyes. 

"WTiereaml.?" 

A  voice  said: 

"That's  better!  Don't  be  afraid.  You'd  fainted  I 
think.     I  can  carry  you  quite  safely." 


438  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Infinite  bliss  rushed  in  upon  the  girl's  fluttering  sense. 
She  was  too  feeble,  too  weak,  to  struggle.  Instead  she  let 
her  head  sink  on  Tatham's  shoulder.  Her  right  hand 
clung  to  his  coat. 

The  young  man  mounted  the  hill,  marvelling  at  the 
lightness  of  the  burden  he  held;  touched,  embarrassed,  yet 
sometimes  inclined  to  laugh  or  scold.  What  had  she  been 
about  .^  He  had  come  in  from  hunting  to  find  her  absence 
just  discovered,  and  the  house  roused.  Victoria  and 
Cyril  Boden  were  exploring  other  roads  through  the 
garden  and  park;  he  had  run  down  the  long  hill  to  the 
station  lodge  in  case  the  theory  started  at  once  by  Victoria 
that  she  had  escaped,  unknown  to  any  one,  in  order  to 
force  an  interview  with  her  father  should  turn  out  to  be 
the  right  one. 

Presently  a  trembling  voice  said  in  the  darkness, 
while  some  soft  curls  of  hair  tickled  his  cheek: 

"I've  been  to  Threlfall.  Will  Lady  Tatham  be  very 
angry?" 

"Well,  she  was  a  bit  worried,"  said  Tatham,  wondering 
if  the  occasion  ought  not  to  be  improved.  "She  guessed 
—  you  might  have  gone  there.  There's  bad  weather 
coming  —  and  she  was  anxious  what  might  happen  to  you. 
Ah!  there's  the  rain!" 

Two  or  three  large  drops  descended  on  Felicia's  cheek 
as  it  lay  upturned  on  his  shoulder;  a  pattering  began  on 
the  oak-leaves  overhead;  the  moonlight  was  blotted  out, 
and  when  Felicia  opened  her  eyes,  it  was  on  a  heavy 
darkness. 

"Stupid!"  cried  Tatham.  "Why  didn't  I  think  of 
bringing  a  mackintosh  cape?" 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  439 

"Mayn't  I  walk?"  asked  Felicia,  meekly.  "I  think  I 
could." 

"I  expect  you'd  better  not.  You  were  pretty  bad 
when  I  found  you.  It's  no  trouble  to  me  to  carry  you, 
and  I  know  every  inch  of  these  roads." 

And  indeed  by  now  he  would  have  been  very  loath  to 
quit  his  task.  There  was  something  tormentingly  attrac- 
tive in  this  warm  softness  of  the  girl's  tiny  form  upon  his 
breast.  The  thought  darted  across  him  —  "If  I  had  ever 
held  Lydia  so!"  It  was  a  pang;  but  it  passed;  and  what 
remained  was  a  tenderness  of  soul,  evoked  by  Lydia,  but 
passing  out  now  beyond  Lydia. 

Poor  httle  foolish  thing!  He  supposed  she  had  been 
trampled  on,  as  his  mother  had  been.  But  his  mother 
could  defend  herself.  What  chance  had  this  child  against 
the  old  tyrant !  x\n  eager,  protective  sympathy  —  a 
warm  pity  —  arose  in  him;  greatly  quickened  by  this 
hand  and  arm  that  clung  to  him. 

The  rain  began  to  drive  against  them. 

"Do  you  mind  getting  wet.?"  he  said  laughing,  almost 
in  her  ear. 

"Not  a  bit!     I  —  I  didn't  mean  to  give  any  trouble." 

The  tone  was  penitent.  Tatham,  forgetting  all  thoughts 
of  admonition,  reassured  her. 

"You  didn't  give  any.     Except Your  mother  of 

course  was  very  anxious  about  you." 

"But  I  couldn't  tell  her!"  sighed  the  voice  on  his 
shoulder.     "She'd  have  stopped  it." 

Tatham  smiled  unseen. 

"I'm  sfraid  your  father  wasn't  kind  to  you,"  he  said, 
after  a  pause. 


440  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"  It  was  horrible  —  horrible ! "  The  httle  body  he  held 
shuddered  closer  to  him.  "^Miy  does  he  hate  us  so?  and 
I  lost  my  temper  too  —  I  stamped  at  him.  But  he  looks 
so  old  —  so  old!     I  think  he'll  die  soon." 

"That  would  be  happiest,"  said  Tatham,  gravely. 

"I  told  him  we  would  never  take  any  money  from  him 
again.  I  must  earn  it  —  I  will!  Your  mother  will  lend 
me  a  little  —  for  my  training.     I'll  pay  it  back." 

"You  poor  child!"  he  murmured. 

At  that  moment  they  emerged  upon  the  last  section  of 
the  broad  avenue  leading  to  the  house.  And  the  electric 
light  in  the  pillared  porch  threw  long  rays  toward  them. 

"Please  put  me  down,"  said  Fehcia,  with  decision. 
"I  can  walk  quite  well." 

He  obeyed  her.  But  her  weakness  was  still  such,  that 
she  could  only  walk  with  help.  Guiding,  supporting  her, 
he  half  led,  half  carried  her  along. 

As  they  reached  the  lighted  porch,  she  looked  up,  her 
face  sparkling  with  rain,  a  touch  of  mischief  in  her  hollow- 
ringed  eyes. 

"How  much  will  they  scold .f*" 

"Can't  say,  I  am  sure!  I  think  you'll  have  to  bear 
it." 

"Never  mind!"  Her  white  cheeks  dimpled.  "It's 
Duddon!  I'd  rather  be  scolded  at  Duddon,  than  petted 
anywhere  else." 

Tatham  flushed  suddenly.  So  did  she.  And  as  the 
door  opened  Felicia  walked  with  composure  past  the 
stately  butler. 

"Is  Lady  Tatham  in  the  hbrary.?^" 

Netta  Melrose,  full  of  fears,  wept  that  evening  over  her 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  441 

daughter's  rash  disobedience.  Victoria  administered  what 
reproof  she  could;  and  Felicia  was  reduced  to  a  heated 
defence  of  herself,  sitting  up  in  bed,  with  a  pair  of  hot 
cheeks  and  tearful  eyes.  But  when  all  the  lights  were  out, 
and  she  was  alone,  she  thought  no  more  of  any  such  nips 
and  pricks.  The  night  was  joy  around  her,  and  as  she 
sank  to  sleep,  Tatham,  in  dream,  still  held  her,  still 
carried  her  through  the  darkness  and  the  rain. 


WHILE  Felicia  was  making  her  vain  attempt  upon 
her  father's  pity,  Faversham  was  sitting  im- 
mersed in  correspondence  in  his  own  room  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  gallery.  He  heard  nothing  of  the  girl's 
arrival  or  departure.  Sound  travelled  but  little  through 
the  thick  walls  of  the  Tower,  and  the  gallery,  muffled  with 
rich  carpets,  with  hangings  and  furniture,  deadened  both 
step  and  voice. 

The  agent  was  busy  with  some  typewritten  evidence 
that  Melrose  was  preparing  wherewith  to  fight  the  Gov- 
ernment officials  now  being  sent  down  from  London  to 
inquire  into  the  state  of  some  portion  of  the  property. 
The  evidence  had  been  collected  by  Nash,  and  Faversham 
read  it  with  disgust.  He  knew  well  that  the  great  mass 
of  it  was  perjured  stuff,  bought  at  a  high  price.  Yet 
both  in  public  and  private  he  would  have  to  back  up  all 
the  lies  and  evasions  that  his  master,  and  the  pack  of 
obscure  hangers-on  who  lived  upon  his  pay,  chose  to  put 
forward. 

He  set  his  teeth  as  he  read.  The  iron  of  his  servitude 
was  cutting  its  way  into  life,  deeper  and  deeper.  Could 
he  go  on  bearing  it.'*  For  weeks  he  had  lived  with  Melrose 
on  terms  of  sheer  humiliation  —  rated,  or  mocked  at,  his 
advice  spurned,  the  wretched  Nash  and  his  crew  osten- 
tatiously preferred  to  him,  even  put  over  him.     "No  one 

442 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  443 

shall  ever  say  I  haven't  earned  my  money,"  he  would 
say  to  himself  fiercely,  as  the  intolerable  days  went  by. 
His  only  abiding  hope  and  compensation  lay  in  his  intense 
belief  that  Melrose  was  a  dying  man.  All  those  feelings 
of  natural  gratitude,  with  which  six  months  before  he  had 
entered  on  his  task,  were  long  since  rooted  up.  He  hated 
his  tyrant,  and  he  wished  him  dead.  But  the  more  he 
dwelt  for  consolation  on  the  prospect  of  Melrose's  dis- 
appearance, the  more  attractive  became  to  him  the  vision 
of  his  own  coming  reign.  Some  day  he  would  be  his  own 
master,  and  the  master  of  these  hoards.  Some  day  he 
would  emerge  from  the  cloud  of  hatred  and  suspicion  in 
which  he  habitually  walked;  some  day  he  would  be  able 
once  more  to  follow  the  instincts  of  an  honest  man;  some 
day  he  would  be  able  again  —  perhaps  —  to  look  Lydia 
Penfold  in  the  face!  Endurance  for  a  few  more  months, 
on  the  best  terms  he  could  secure,  lest  the  old  madman 
should  even  yet  revoke  his  gifts;  and  then  —  a  trans- 
formation scene  —  on  the  details  of  which  his  thoughts 
dwelt  perpetually,  by  way  of  rehef  from  the  present. 
Tatham  and  the  rest  of  his  enemies,  who  were  now  hunting 
and  reviling  him,  would  be  made  to  understand  that  if 
he  had  stooped,  he  had  stooped  with  a  purpose;  and  that 
the  end  did  in  this  case  justify  the  means. 

A  countryside  cleansed,  comforted,  remade;  a  great 
estate  ideally  managed;  a  great  power  to  be  greatly  used; 
scope  for  experiment,  for  public  service,  for  self-realiza- 
tion—  he  greedily,  passionately,  foresaw  them  all.  Let 
him  be  patient.  Nothing  could  interfere  with  his  dream, 
but  some  foolish  refusal  of  the  conditions  on  which  alone 
it  could  come  true. 


444  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Often,  when  this  mood  of  self-assertion  was  on  him,  he 
would  go  back  in  thought  to  his  boyish  holidays  in  Oxford, 
and  to  his  uncle.  He  saw  the  kind  old  fellow  in  his  shep- 
herd plaid  suit,  black  tie,  and  wide-awake,  taking  his 
constitutional  along  the  Woodstock  road,  or  playing  a 
mild  game  of  croquet  in  the  professorial  garden;  or  he 
recalled  him  among  his  gems  —  those  rare  and  beautiful 
things,  bought  with  the  savings  of  a  lifetime,  loved,  each 
of  them,  for  its  own  sake,  and  bequeathed  at  death,  with 
the  tender  expression  of  a  wish  —  no  tyrannical  condition ! 
—  to  the  orphan  boy  whom  he  had  fathered. 

The  thought  of  what  would  —  what  must  be  —  Uncle 
Mackworth's  judgment  on  his  present  position,  was 
perhaps  the  most  tormenting  element  in  Faversham's 
consciousness.  He  faced  it,  however,  with  frankness. 
His  uncle  would  have  condemned  him  —  wholly.  The 
notion  of  serving  a  bad  man,  for  money,  would  have  been 
simply  inconceivable  to  that  straight  and  innocent  soul. 
Are  there  not  still  herbs  to  be  eaten  under  hedgerows,  with 
the  sauce  of  liberty  and  self-respect? 

No  doubt.  But  man  is  entitled  to  self -fulfilment;  and 
men  pursue  vastly  different  ways  of  obtaining  it.  The 
perplexities  of  practical  ethics  are  infinite;  and  mixed 
motives  fit  a  mixed  world. 

At  least  he  had  not  bartered  away  his  uncle's  treasure. 
The  gems  still  stood  to  him  as  the  symbol  of  something 
he  had  lost,  and  might  some  day  recover.  It  was  really 
time  he  got  them  out  of  Melrose's  clutches.     .     . ,   . 

.  .  .  The  room  was  oppressively  hot!  It  was  a  raw 
December  night,  but  the  heating  system  of  the  Tower  was 
now  so  perfect,  and  to  Faversham's  mind  so  excessive. 


THE  iMATING  OF  LYDIA  445 

that  every  corner  of  the  large  house  was  bathed  m  a  tem- 
perature which  seemed  to  keep  Meh-ose  alive,  while  it 
half  suffocated  every  other  inmate. 

Suddenly  the  telephone  bell  on   his  writing-desk  rang. 
His  room  was  now  connected  with  Melrose's  room,  at  the 
other  end  of  the  house,  as  well  as  with  Pengarth.     He  put 
his  ear  to  the  receiver, 
les.-* 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

He  rose  unwillingly.  But  at  least  he  could  air  the  room, 
which  he  would  not  have  ventured  to  do,  if  Melrose  were 
coming  to  him  as  usual  for  the  ten  minutes'  hectoring, 
which  now  served  as  conversation  between  them,  before 
bedtime.  Going  to  the  window  which  gave  access  to  the 
terrace  outside,  he  unclosed  the  shutters,  and  threw  open 
the  glass  doors.  He  perceived  that  it  had  begun  to  rain, 
and  that  the  night  was  darkening.  He  stood  drinking  in 
the  moist  coolness  of  the  air  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
then  leaving  the  window  open,  and  forgetting  to  ex- 
tinguish the  electric  light  on  his  table  he  went  out  of  the 
room. 

He  found  ISIelrose  in  his  chair,  his  aspect  thunderous  and 
excited. 

"Was  it  by  your  plotting,  sir,  that  that  girl  got  in.^"^ 
said  the  old  man,  as  he  entered. 

Faversham  stood  amazed. 

"What  girl.5" 

Melrose  angrily  described  Felicia's  visit,  adding  that  if 
Faversham  knew  nothing  about  it,  it  was  his  duty  to  knovr. 
Dixon  deserved  dismissal  for  his  abominable  conduct; 
"and  you,  sir,  are  paid  a  large  salary,  not  only  to  manage 


446  THE  :MATING  OF  LYDIA 

—  or  mismanage —  my  affairs,  but  also  to  protect  your 
employer  from  amioyance.     I  expect  you  to  do  it!" 

Faversham  took  the  charge  quietly.  His  whole  relation 
to  Melrose  had  altered  so  rapidly  for  the  worse  during  the 
preceding  weeks  that  no  injustice  or  unreason  surprised 
him.  And  yet  there  was  something  strange  —  something 
monstrous  —  in  the  old  man's  venomous  temper.  After 
all  his  bribes,  after  all  his  tyranny,  did  he  still  feel  some- 
thing in  Faversham  escape  him?  —  some  deep-driven 
defiance,  or  hope,  infrangible?  He  seemed  indeed  to  be 
always  on  the  watch  now  for  fresh  occasions  of  attack 
that  should  test  his  own  power,  and  Faversham's  sub- 
mission. 

Presently,  he  abruptly  left  the  subject  of  his  daughter, 
and  Faversham  did  not  pursue  it.  What  was  the  good  of 
inquiring  into  the  details  of  the  girl's  adventure?  He 
guessed  pretty  accurately  at  what  had  happened;  the 
scorn  which  had  been  poured  on  the  supphant;  the  careless 
indifference  wath  which  she  had  been  dismissed  —  through 
the  rain  and  the  night.  Yet  another  scandal  for  a  greedy 
neighbourhood ! —  another  story  to  reach  the  ears  of  the 
dwellers  in  a  certain  cottage,  with  the  embeUishments,  no 
doubt,  which  the  popular  hatred  of  both  himself  and 
Melrose  was  certain  to  supply.  He  felt  himseK  buried  a 
little  deeper  under  the  stoning  of  his  fellows.  But  at  the 
same  time  he  was  conscious  —  as  of  a  danger  point  —  of 
a  new  and  passionate  exasperation  in  himseK.  His  will 
must  control  it. 

Melrose,  however,  proceeded  to  give  it  fresh  cause.  He 
took  up  a  letter  from  Nash  containing  various  complaints 
of   Faversham,    which   had   reached   him   that   evening. 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  447 

"You  have  been  browbeating  our  witnesses,  sir!  Nash 
reports  them  as  discouraged,  and  possibly  no  longer  willing 
to  come  forward.  What  business  had  you  to  jeopardize 
my  interests  by  posing  as  the  superior  person?  The 
evidence  had  been  good  enough  for  Nash  —  and  myself. 
It  might  have  been  good  enough  for  you." 

Faversham  smiled,  as  he  lit  his  cigarette. 

"The  two  men  you  refer  to  —  whom  you  asked  me  to 
see  yesterday  —  were  a  couple  of  the  feeblest  liars  I  ever 
had  to  do  with.  Tatham's  counsel  would  have  turned 
them  inside  out  in  five  minutes.  You  seem  to  forget  the 
other  side  are  employing  counsel." 

"  I  forgot  nothing ! "  said  ^lelrose  hotly.  "  But  I  expect 
you  to  follow  your  instructions." 

"The  point  is  —  am  I  advising  you  in  this  matter,  or 
am  I  merely  your  agent.'  You  seem  to  expect  me  to  act 
in  both  capacities.     And  I  confess  I  find  it  difficult." 

Melrose  fretted  and  fumed.  He  raised  one  point  after 
another,  criticising  Faversham 's  action  and  advice  in 
regard  to  the  housing  inquiries,  as  though  he  were  deter- 
mined to  pick  a  quarrel.  Faversham  met  him  on  the 
whole  with  wonderful  composure,  often  yielding  in  appear- 
ance, but  in  reahty  getting  the  best  of  it  throughout. 
Under  the  mask  of  the  discussion,  however,  the  temper  of 
both  men  was  rising  fast.  It  was  as  though  two  deep-sea 
currents,  converging  far  down,  were  struggling  unseen 
toward  the  still  calm  surface,  there  to  meet  in  storm  and 
convulsion. 

Again,  jNIelrose  changed  the  conversation.  He  was  by 
now  extraordinarily  pale.  All  the  flushed  excitement  in 
which  Faversham  had  found  him  had  disappeared.     He 


448  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

was  more  spectral,  more  ghostly  —  and  ghastly  —  than 
Faversham  had  ever  seen  him.  His  pincerhke  fingers 
played  with  the  jewel  which  Felicia  had  throwm  down  upon 
the  table.  He  took  it  up,  put  on  his  eyeglass,  peered  at 
it,  put  it  down  again.  Then  he  turned  an  intent  and  evil 
€ye  on  Faversham. 

"I  have  now  something  of  a  quite  diflFerent  nature  to 
say  to  you.     You  have,  I  imagine,  expected  it.     You  will, 
perhaps,   guess  at  it.     And   I  cannot  imagine  for  one 
moment  that  you  wdll  make  any  difficulty  about  it." 
Faversham's  pulse  began  to  race. 
He  suspended  his  cigarette. 
"WTiatisit.=  " 

"I  am  asked  to  send  a  selection  of  antique  gems  to  the 
Loan  Exhibition  which  is  being  got  up  by  the  'Amis  du 
Louvre'  m  Paris,  after  Christmas.  I  desire  to  send  both 
the  Arconati  Bacchus  and  the  Medusa  —  in  fact  all  those 
now  in  the  case  committed  to  my  keeping." 

"I  have  no  objection,"  said  Faversham.  But  he  had 
suddenly  lost  colour. 

"I  can  only  send  them  m  my  own  name,"  said  Melrose 
slowly. 

"That  difficulty  is  not  insurmountable.  I  can  lend 
them  to  you." 

Meh-ose's  composure  gave  way.  He  brought  his  hand 
heavily  dovm  on  the  table. 

"I  shall  send  them  in  —  as  my  own  property  —  in  my 
own  name ! " 

Faversham  eyed  him. 

"  But  they  are  not  —  they  M-ill  not  be  —  your  property." 

^'I  offer  you  three  thousand  pounds  for  them! — four 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  449 

thousand  —  five  thousand  —  if  you  want  more  you  can 
have  it.  Drive  the  best  bargain  you  can!"  sneered  Mel- 
rose, trying  to  smile. 

"I  refuse  your  offer  —  your  very  generous  offer  —  with 
great  regret  —  but  I  refuse ! "  Faversham  had  risen  to  his 
feet. 

"And  your  reason? —  for  a  behaviour  so  —  so  vilely 
ungrateful!" 

"Simply,  that  the  gems  were  left  to  me  —  by  an  uncle  I 
loved  —  who  was  a  second  father  to  me  —  who  asked  me 
not  to  sell  them.  I  have  warned  you  not  once,  or  twice, 
that  I  should  never  sell  them." 

"  No !  You  expected  both  to  get  hold  of  my  property  — 
and  to  keep  your  own!" 

"Insult  me  as  you  like,"  said  Faversham,  quietly.  "I 
probably  deserve  it.  But  you  will  not  alter  my  deter- 
mination." 

He  stood  leaning  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  looking  down  on 
Melrose.  Some  bondage  had  broken  in  his  soul!  A  tide 
of  some  beneficent  force  seemed  to  be  flooding  its  dry 
wastes. 

Melrose  paused.  In  the  silence  each  measured  the  other. 
Then  Melrose  said  in  a  voice  which  had  grown  husky : 

"So  —  the  first  return  you  are  asked  to  make,  for  all 
that  has  been  lavished  upon  you,  you  meet  with  —  this 
refusal.  That  throws  a  new  light  upon  your  character. 
I  never  proposed  to  leave  my  fortune  to  an  adventurer! 
I  proposed  to  leave  it  to  a  gentleman,  capable  of  under- 
standing an  obligation.  We  have  mistaken  each  other  — 
and  our  arrangement  —  drops.  Unless  you  consent  to  the 
very  small   request  —  the   very   advantageous   proposal 


450  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

rather  —  which  I  have  just  made  you  —  you  will  leave 
this  room  —  as  penniless  —  except  for  any  savings  you 
may  have  made  out  of  your  preposterous  salary  —  as 
penniless  —  as  you  came  into  it!" 

Faversham  raised  himself.  He  drew  a  long  breath, 
as  of  a  man  delivered. 

"Do  what  you  like,  Mr.  Melrose,  There  was  a  time 
when  it  seemed  as  if  our  cooperation  might  have  been  of 
service  to  both.  But  some  devil  in  you  —  and  a  greedy 
mind  in  me  —  the  temptation  of  your  money  —  oh,  I 
confess  it,  frankly  —  have  ruined  our  partnership  —  and 
indeed  —  much  else !  I  resume  my  freedom  —  I  leave 
your  house  to-morrow.  And  now,  please  —  return  me 
my  gems!" 

He  peremptorily  held  out  his  hand.  Melrose  glared 
upon  him.  Then  slowly  the  old  man  reopened  the  little 
drawer  at  his  elbow,  took  thence  the  shagreen  case,  and 
pushed  it  toward  Faversham. 

Faversham  replaced  it  in  his  breast  pocket. 

"Thank  you.  Now,  Mr.  Melrose,  I  should  advise  you 
to  go  to  bed.  Your  health  is  not  strong  enough  to  stand 
these  disputes.  Shall  I  call  Dixon?  As  soon  as  possible 
my  accounts  shall  be  in  your  hands." 

"Leave  the  room,  sir!"  cried  Melrose,  choking  with 
rage,  and  motioning  toward  the  door. 

On  the  threshold  Faversham  turned,  and  gave  one  last 
look  at  the  dark  figure  of  Melrose,  and  the  medley  of 
objects  surrounding  it;  at  Madame  Elisabeth's  Sevres 
vases,  on  the  upper  shelf  of  the  Riesener  table;  at  the 
Louis  Seize  clock,  on  the  panelled  wall,  which  was  at  that 
moment  striking  eight. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  451 

As  he  closed  the  door  behind  him,  he  was  aware  of 
Dixon  who  had  just  entered  the  gallery  from  the  servants* 
quarters.  The  old  butler  hurried  toward  him  to  ask  if 
he  should  announce  dinner.  "Not  for  me,"  said  Faver- 
sham;  "you  had  better  ask  Mr.  Melrose,  To-morrow, 
Dixon,  I  shall  be  leaving  this  house  —  for  good." 

Dixon  stared,  his  face  working: 

"I  thowt  —  I  heard  yo' "  he  said,  and  paused. 

"  You  heard  us  disputing.  Mr.  Melrose  and  I  have  had 
a  quarrel.  Bring  me  something  to  my  room,  when  you 
have  looked  after  him.  I  will  come  and  speak  to  you 
later." 

Faversham  walked  down  the  gallery  to  his  own  door. 
He  had  to  pass  on  the  way  a  splendid  Nattier  portrait  of 
IMarie  Leczinska  which  had  arrived  only  that  morning 
from  Paris,  and  was  standing  on  the  floor,  leaning  sideways 
against  a  chair,  as  Melrose  had  placed  it  himself,  so  as  to 
get  a  good  light  on  it.  The  picture  was  large.  Faver- 
sham picked  his  way  round  it.  If  his  thoughts  had  not 
been  so  entirely  preoccupied,  he  would  probably  have 
noticed  a  slight  movement  of  something  behind  the  por- 
trait as  he  passed.  But  exultation  held  him;  he  walked 
on  air. 

He  returned  to  his  own  room,  where  the  window  was 
still  wide  open.  As  he  entered,  he  mechanically  turned 
on  the  central  light,  not  noticing  that  the  reading  lamp 
upon  his  table  was  not  in  its  place.  But  he  saw  that  some 
papers  which  had  been  on  his  desk  when  he  left  the  room 
were  now  on  the  floor.  He  supposed  the  wind  which  was 
rising  had  dislodged  them.  Stooping  to  hft  them  up,  he 
was  surprised  to  see  a  large  mud-stain  on  the  topmost 


452  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

sheet.  It  looked  like  a  footprint,  as  though  some  one  had 
first  knocked  the  papers  off  the  table,  and  then  trodden  on 
them.  He  turned  on  a  fresh  switch.  There  was  another 
mark  on  the  floor  just  beyond  the  table  —  and  another  — 
nearer  the  door.  They  were  certainly  footprints!  But 
who  could  have  entered  the  room  during  his  absence? 
And  where  was  the  invader?  At  the  same  time  he  per- 
ceived that  his  reading  lamp  had  been  overturned  and  was 
lying  on  the  floor,  broken. 

Filled  with  a  vague  anxiety,  he  returned  to  the  door 
he  had  just  closed.  As  he  laid  his  hand  upon  it,  a  shot 
rang  through  the  house  —  a  cry  —  the  sound  of  a  fierce 
voice  —  a  fall. 

And  the  next  minute  the  door  he  held  was  \'iolently 
burst  open  in  his  face,  he  himself  was  knocked  backward 
over  a  chair,  and  a  man  carrying  a  gun,  whose  face  was 
muffled  in  some  dark  material,  rushed  across  the  room, 
leapt  through  the  window,  and  disappeared  into  the  night. 

Faversham  ran  into  the  gallery.  The  first  thing  he 
sav/  was  the  Nattier  portrait  lying  on  its  face  beside  a 
chair  overturned.  Beyond  it,  a  dark  object  on  the  floor. 
At  the  same  moment,  he  perceived  Dixon  standing  horror- 
struck,  at  the  farther  end  of  the  gallery,  with  the  handle 
of  the  door  leading  to  the  servants'  quarters  still  in  his 
grasp.     Then  the  old  man  too  ran. 

The  two  men  were  brought  up  by  the  same  obstacle. 
The  body  of  Edmund  Melrose  lay  between  them. 

Melrose  had  fallen  on  his  face.  As  Faversham  and 
Dixon  lifted  him,  they  saw  that  he  was  still  breathing, 
though  in  extremis.     He  had  been  shot  through  the  breast. 


THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA  453 

and  a  pool  of  blood  lay  beneath  him,  blotting  out  the 
faded  blues  and  yellow  greens  of  a  Persian  carpet. 

At  the  command  of  her  husband,  Mrs.  Dixon,  who  had 
hurried  after  him,  ran  for  brandy,  crying  also  for  help. 
Faversham  snatched  a  cushion,  put  it  under  the  dying 
man's  head,  and  loosened  his  clothing.  Melrose's  eyelids 
fluttered  once  or  twice,  then  sank.  With  a  low  groan,  a 
gush  of  blood  from  the  mouth,  he  passed  away  while 
DLxon  prayed, 

"May  the  Lord  have  mercy  —  mercy!" 

The  old  man  rocked  to  and  fro  beside  the  corpse  in  an 
anguish.  Mrs.  Dixon  coming  with  the  brandy  in  her 
hand  was  stopped  by  a  gesture  from  Faversham. 

"  No  use ! "  He  touched  Dixon  on  the  shoulder.  "  Dixon 
—  this  is  murder!  You  must  go  at  once  for  Doctor 
Undershaw  and  the  police.  Take  the  motor.  Mrs. 
Dixon  and  I  will  stay  here.  But  first  —  tell  me  —  after 
I  spoke  to  you  here  —  did  you  go  in  to  Mr.  Melrose?" 

"I  knocked,  sir.  But  he  shouted  to  me  —  angry  like  — 
to  go  away  —  till  he  rang.  I  went  back  to  t'  kitchen,  and 
I  had  nobbut  closed  yon  door  behind  me  —  when  I  heard 
t'  firin'.  I  brast  it  open  again  —  an'  saw  a  man  —  wi' 
summat  roun'  his  head  —  fleein'  doon  t'  gallery.  My 
God!  — my  God! " 

"The  man  who  did  it  was  in  the  gallery  while  you  and  I 
were  speaking  to  each  other,"  said  Faversham,  calmly,  as 
he  rose;  "and  he  got  in  through  my  window,  while  I  was 
with  Mr.  Melrose."  He  described  briefly  the  passage  of 
the  murderer  through  his  own  room.  "Tell  the  police  to 
have  the  main  line  stations  watched  without  a  moment's 
delay.     The  man's  game  would  be  to  get  to  one  or  other 


454  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

of  them  across  country.  There'll  be  no  marks  on  him  — 
he  fired  from  a  distance  —  but  his  boots  are  muddy. 
About  five  foot  ten  I  should  think  —  a  weedy  kind  of 
fellow.  Go  and  wake  Tonson,  and  be  back  as  quick  as 
you  possibly  can.  And  listen!  —  on  your  way  to  the 
stables  call  the  gardener.  Send  him  for  the  farm  men,  and 
tell  them  to  search  the  garden,  and  the  woods  by  the  river. 
They'll  find  me  there.  Or  stay  —  one  of  them  can  come 
here,  and  remain  with  Mrs.  Dixon,  while  I'm  gone.  Let 
them  bring  lanterns  —  quick!" 

In  less  than  fifteen  minutes  the  motor,  with  Dixon  and 
the  new  chauffeur,  Tonson,  had  left  the  Tower,  and  was 
rushing  at  forty  miles  an  hour  along  the  Pengarth  road. 

Meanwhile,  Faversham  and  the  farm-labourers  were 
searching  the  garden,  the  hanging  woods,  and  the  river 
banks.  Footprints  were  found  all  along  the  terrace,  and 
it  was  plain  that  the  murderer  had  climbed  the  low  en- 
closing wall.  But  beyond,  and  all  in  the  darkness,  noth- 
ing could  be  traced. 

Faversham  returned  to  the  house,  and  began  to  ex- 
amine the  gallery.  The  hiding-place  of  Melrose's  assailant 
was  soon  discovered.  Behind  the  Nattier  portrait,  and 
the  carved  and  gilt  chair  which  Melrose  had  himself 
moved  from  its  place  in  the  morning,  there  were  muddy 
marks  on  the  floor  and  the  wainscotting,  which  showed 
that  a  man  had  been  crouching  there.  The  picture,  a 
large  and  imposing  canvas  —  Marie  Leczinska,  sitting  on 
a  blue  sofa,  in  a  gala  dress  of  rose-pink  velvet  with  trim- 
ming of  black  fur  —  had  been  more  than  sufficient  to 
conceal  him.  Then  —  had  he  knocked  to  attract  INIel- 
rose's  attention,  having  ascertained  from  Dixon's  short 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  455 

colloquy  at  the  library  door,  after  Faversham  had  left 
the  room,  that  the  master  of  the  Tower  was  still  within?  — 
or  had  Melrose  suddenly  come  out  into  the  gallery,  perhaps 
to  give  some  order  to  Dixon? 

Faversham  thought  the  latter  more  probable.  As 
Melrose  appeared,  the  murderer  had  risen  hastily  from 
his  hiding-place,  upsetting  the  picture  and  the  chair. 
Melrose  had  received  a  charge  of  duck  shot  full  in  the 
breast,  with  fatal  effect.  The  range  was  so  short  that 
the  shot  had  scattered  but  Uttle.  A  few  pellets,  however, 
could  be  traced  in  the  wooden  frames  of  the  tapestries; 
and  one  had  broken  a  majolica  dish  standing  on  a  cabinet. 

A  man  of  the  people  then  —  using  probably  some  old 
muzzle-loader,  begged  or  borrowed?  Faversham's  thought 
ran  to  the  young  fellow  who  had  denounced  Melrose  with 
such  fervour  at  Mainstairs  the  day  of  Lydia  Penfold's 
visit  to  the  stricken  village.  But,  good  heavens ! —  there 
were  a  score  of  men  on  Melrose's  estate,  with  at  least  as 
good  reason — or  better — for  shooting,  as  that  man.  Take 
the  Brands!  But  old  Brand  was  gone  to  his  rest, 
the  elder  son  had  sailed  for  Canada,  and  the  younger 
seemed  to  be  a  harmless,  half-witted  chap,  of  no  account. 

Yet,  clearly  the  motive  had  been  revenge,  not  burglary. 
There  were  plenty  of  costly  trifles  on  the  tables  and 
cabinets  of  the  gallery.  Not  one  of  them  had  been 
touched. 

Faversham  moved  to  and  fro  in  the  silence,  while 
Mrs.  Dixon  sat  moaning  to  herself  beside  the  dead  man, 
whose  face  she  had  covered.  The  lavish  electric  light  in 
the  gallery,  which  had  been  Melrose's  latest  whim,  shone 
upon  its  splendid  contents;  on  the  nymphs  and  cupids. 


456  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

the  wreaths  and  temples  of  the  Boucher  tapestries,  on  the 
gleaming  surfaces  of  the  china,  the  dull  gold  of  the  ormolu. 
The  show  represented  the  desires,  the  huntings,  the  bar- 
gains of  a  lifetime;  and  in  its  midst  lay  Melrose,  tripped 
at  last,  silenced  at  last,  the  stain  of  his  hfe-blood  spreading 
round  him. 

Faversham  looked  down  upon  him,  shuddering.  Then 
perceiving  that  the  door  into  the  library  stood  ajar,  he 
entered  the  room.  There  stood  the  chair  on  which  he 
had  leant,  when  the  chains  of  his  slavery  fell  from  him. 
There  —  on  the  table  —  was  the  jewel  —  the  little  Venus 
with  fluttering  enamel  drapery,  standing  tiptoe  within  her 
hoop  of  diamonds,  which  he  had  seen  Melrose  take  up 
and  handle  during  their  dispute.  Why  was  it  there? 
Faversham  had  no  idea. 

And  there  on  the  writing-desk  lay  a  large  sheet  of  paper 
with  a  single  line  written  upon  it  in  Melrose's  big  and 
sprawling  handwriting.  That  was  new.  It  had  not  been 
there,  when  Faversham  last  stood  beside  the  table.  The 
pen  Was  thrown  down  upon  it,  and  a  cigar  lay  in  the  ash- 
tray, as  though  the  writer  had  been  disturbed  either  by  a 
sudden  sound,  or  by  the  irruption  of  some  thought  which 
had  led  him  into  the  gallery  to  call  Dixon. 

Faversham  stooped  to  look  at  it: 

"I  hereby  revoke  all  the  provisions  of  the  will  executed 
by  me  on     .     .     ." 

No  more.  The  paper  was  worthless.  The  will  would 
stand.  Faversham  stood  motionless,  the  silence  booming 
in  his  ears. 

"A  fool  would  put  that  in  his  pocket,"  he  said  to  himself, 
contemptuously.     Then  conscious  of  a  new  swarm  of  ideas 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  457 

assailing  him,  of  new  dangers,  and  a  new  wanness,  he 
returned  to  the  gallery,  pacing  it  till  the  police  appeared. 
They  came  in  force,  within  the  hour,  accompanied  by 
Undershaw. 

The  old  chiming  clock  set  in  the  garden-front  of  Duddon 
had  not  long  struck  ten.  Cyril  Boden  had  just  gone  to 
bed.  Victoria  sat  with  her  feet  on  the  fender  in  Tatham's 
study  still  discussing  with  him  Felicia's  astonishing  per- 
formance of  the  afternoon.  She  found  him  eagerly  in- 
terested in  it,  to  a  degree  which  surprised  her;  and  they 
passed  from  it  only  to  go  zealously  together  into  various 
plans  for  the  future  of  mother  and  daughter  —  plans  as 
intelligent  as  they  were  generous.  The  buzz  of  a  motor 
coming  up  the  drive  surprised  them.  There  were  no 
visitors  in  the  house,  and  none  expected.  Victoria  rose 
in  amazement  as  Undershaw  walked  into  the  room. 

"A  horrible  thing  has  happened.  I  felt  that  you  must 
know  before  anybody  —  with  those  two  poor  things  in 
your  house.  Dixon  has  told  me  that  Miss  Melrose  saw 
her  father  this  afternoon.  I  have  come  to  bring  you  the 
sequel." 

He  told  his  story.  Mother  and  son  turned  pale  looks 
upon  each  other.  Within  a  couple  of  hours  of  the  moment 
when  he  had  turned  his  daughter  from  his  doors !  Seldom 
indeed  do  the  strokes  of  the  gods  fall  so  fitly.  There  was 
an  awful  satisfaction  in  the  grim  story  to  some  of  the 
deepest  instincts  of  the  soul. 

"Some  poor  devil  he  has  ruined,  I  suppose !"  said  Tat- 
ham,  his  grave  young  face  lifted  to  the  tragic  height  of 
the  event.     "Any  clue.'*" 


458  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"None  —  except  that,  as  I  have  told  you,  Faversham 
himseK  saw  the  murderer,  except  his  face,  and  Dixon 
saw  his  back.  A  shght  man  in  corduroys  —  that's  all 
Dixon  can  say.  Faversham  and  the  Dixons  were  alone 
in  the  house,  except  for  a  couple  of  maids.  Perhaps" — 
he  hesitated  — "  I  had  better  teU  you  some  other  facts 
that  Faversham  told  me  —  and  the  Superintendent  of 
Police.  They  will  of  course  come  out  at  the  inquest. 
He  and  Melrose  had  had  a  violent  quarrel  immediately 
before  the  murder,  Melrose  threatened  to  revoke  his  will, 
and  Faversham  left  him,  understanding  that  all  disposi- 
tions in  his  favour  would  be  cancelled.  He  came  out  of 
the  room,  spoke  to  Dixon  in  the  gallery  and  walked  to 
his  own  sitting-room.  Melrose  apparently  sat  down  at 
once  to  write  a  codicil  revoking  the  will.  He  was  dis- 
turbed, came  out  into  the  gallery,  and  was  shot  dead. 
The  few  lines  he  wrote  are  of  course  of  no  validity.  The 
will  holds,  and  Faversham  is  the  heir  —  to  everything. 
You  see" — he  paused  again — "some  awkward  sugges- 
tions might  be  made." 

"But,"  cried  Tatham,  "you  say  Dixon  saw  the  man  I 
And  the  muddy  footmarks  —  in  the  house  —  and  on  the 
terrace!" 

"Don't  mistake  me,  for  heaven's  sake,"  said  Under- 
shaw,  quickly.  "It  is  impossible  that  Faversham  should 
have  fired  the  shot!  But  in  the  present  state  of  public 
opinion  you  will  easily  imagine  what  else  may  be  said. 
There  is  a  whole  tribe  of  Melrose's  hangers-on  who  hate 
Faversham  like  poison;  who  have  been  plotting  to  pull 
him  dowTi,   and  will  be  furious  to  find  him  after  all  in 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  459 

secure  possession  of  the  estate  and  the  money.  I  feel 
tolerably  certain  they  will  put  up  some  charge  or 
other." 

"What  —  of  procuring  the  thing?" 

Undershaw  nodded. 

Tatham  considered  a  moment.  Then  he  rang,  and 
when  Hurst  appeared,  all  white  and  disorganized  under 
the  stress  of  the  news  just  communicated  to  him  by  Under- 
shaw's  chauffeur,  he  ordered  his  horse  for  eight  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  Victoria  looked  at  him  puzzled;  then  it 
seemed  she  understood. 

But  every  other  thought  was  soon  swallowed  up  in  the 
remembrance  of  the  widow  and  daughter. 

"Not  to-night  —  not  to-night,"  pleaded  Undershaw 
who  had  seen  Netta  Melrose  professionally,  only  that 
morning.  "I  dread  the  mere  shock  for  Mrs.  Melrose. 
Let  them  have  their  sleep!  I  will  be  over  early  to- 
morrow." 


XXI 

BY  THE  first  dawn  of  the  new  day  Tatham  was  in 
the  saddle.  Just  as  he  was  starting  from  the 
house,  there  arrived  a  messenger,  and  a  letter  was 
put  into  his  hand.  It  was  from  Undershaw,  who,  on 
leaving  Duddon  the  night  before,  had  motored  back  to  the 
Tower,  and  taken  Faversham  in  charge.  The  act  bore 
testimony  to  the  little  doctor's  buffeted  but  still  surviving 
regard  for  this  man,  whom  he  had  pulled  from  the  jaws 
of  death.  He  reported  in  his  morning  letter  that  he  had 
passed  some  of  the  night  in  conversation  with  Faversham, 
and  wished  immediately  to  pass  on  certain  facts  learnt 
from  it,  first  of  all  to  Tatham,  and  then  to  any  friend  of 
Faversham's  they  might  concern. 

He  told,  accordingly,  the  full  story  of  the  gems,  leading 
up  to  the  quarrel  between  the  two  men,  as  Faversham  had 
told  it  to  him. 

"Faversham,"  he  wrote,  "left  the  old  man,  convinced 
that  all  was  at  an  end  as  to  the  will  and  the  inheritance. 
And  now  he  is  as  much  the  heir  as  ever!  I  find  him 
bewildered;  for  his  mind,  in  that  tragic  half -hour,  had 
absolutely  renounced.  What  he  will  do,  no  one  can  say. 
As  to  the  murderer,  we  have  discussed  all  possible  clues  — 
with  little  light.  But  the  morning  will  doubtless  bring 
some  new  facts.  That  Faversham  has  not  the  smallest 
fraction  of  responsibility  for  the  murder  is  clear  to  any 

460 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  461 

sane  man  who  talks  with  him.  But  that  there  will  be 
a  buzz  of  slanderous  tongues  as  soon  as  ever  the  story  is 
public  property,  I  am  convinced.  So  I  send  you  these 
fresh  particulars  as  quickly  as  possible  —  for  your  guid- 
ance." 

Tatham  thrust  the  letter  into  his  pocket,  and  rode  away 
through  the  December  dawn.  His  mother  would  soon 
be  in  the  thick  of  her  own  task  with  the  two  unconscious 
ones  at  Duddon.  His  duty  lay  —  with  Lydia !  The 
"friend"  was  all  ahve  in  him,  reaching  out  to  her  in  a 
manly  and  generous  emotion. 

The  winter  sunrise  was  a  thing  of  beauty.  It  chimed 
with  the  intensity  of  feeling  in  the  young  man's  breast. 
The  sky  was  a  light  saffron  over  the  eastern  fells,  and  the 
mountains  rose  into  it  indistinguishably  blue,  the  light 
mists  wrapped  about  their  feet.  Among  the  mists,  plane 
behind  plane,  the  hedgerow  trees,  still  faintly  afire  with 
tlieir  last  leaf,  stood  patterned  on  the  azure  of  the  fells. 
And  as  he  rode  on,  the  first  rays  of  the  light  mounting 
a  gap  in  the  Helvellyn  range  struck  upon  the  valleys 
below.  The  shadows  ran  blue  along  the  frosty  grass; 
here  and  there  the  withered  leaf  began  to  blaze;  the 
streams  rejoiced.  Under  their  sycamores  and  yews,  the 
white-walled  farms  sent  up  their  morning  smoke;  the 
cocks  were  crowing;  and  as  he  mounted  the  upland  on 
which  the  cottage  stood,  from  a  height  in  front  of  him,  a 
tiny  church  —  one  of  the  smallest  and  loneliest  in  the  fells 
—  sent  forth  a  summoning  bell.  The  sound,  with  all  its 
weight  of  association,  sank  and  echoed  through  the  morn- 
ing stillness;  the  fells  repeated  it,  a  voice  of  worship 
toward  God,  of  appeal  toward  man. 


462  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

In  Tatham,  fashioned  to  the  appeal  by  all  the  accidents 
of  blood  and  nurture,  the  sound  made  for  a  deepened 
spirit  and  a  steadied  mood.  He  pressed  on  toward  the 
little  house  and  garden  that  now  began  to  show  through 
the  trees. 

Lydia  had  not  long  come  downstairs  when  she  heard  the 
horse  at  the  gate.  The  cottage  breakfast  was  nominally 
at  half-past  eight.  But  Mrs,  Penfold  never  appeared, 
and  Susy  was  always  professionally  late,  it  being 
understood  that  inspiration  —  when  it  alights  —  is  a 
midnight  visitant,  and  must  be  wooed  at  suitable 
hours. 

Lydia  was  generally  down  to  the  minute,  and  read 
prayers  to  their  two  maids.  Mrs.  Penfold  made  a  great 
point  of  family  prayers,  but  rarely  or  never  attended 
them.  Susy  did  not  like  to  be  read  to  by  anybody, 
Lydia  therefore  had  the  little  function  to  herself.  She 
chose  her  favourite  psalms,  and  prayers  from  the  most 
various  sources.  The  maids  liked  it  because  they  loved 
Lydia;  and  Lydia,  having  once  begun,  would  not  willingly 
have  given  it  up. 

But  the  ceremony  was  over;  and  she  had  just  opened 
the  casement  to  see  who  their  visitor  might  be,  when 
Tatham  rode  up  to  the  porch. 

"May  I  speak  to  you  for  ten  minutes?' 

His  aspect  warned  her  of  things  unusual.  He  tied 
up  his  horse,  and  she  took  him  into  their  little  sitting- 
room,  and  closed  the  door. 

"You  haven't  seen  a  newspaper.''" 

She  assured  him  their  post  would  not  arrive  from 
Keswick  for  another  hour,  and  stood  expectant. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  463 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you  before  any  one  else,  because 
there  are  things  to  explain.     We're  friends  —  Lydia? " 

He  approached  her  eagerly.  His  colour  had  leapt; 
but  his  eyes  reassured. 

"Always,"  she  said  simply,  and  she  put  her  hand  in  his. 

Then  he  told  her.  He  saw  her  waver,  and  sink,  ghost- 
like, on  a  chair.  It  was  clear  enough  that  the  news  had  for 
her  no  ordinary  significance.  His  heart  knew  pain  —  the 
reflex  of  a  past  anguish;  only  to  be  lost  at  once  in  the 
desire  to  soothe  and  shield  her. 

"Mr.  Faversham  was  there.^"  she  asked  him,  trembling. 

"He  did  not  see  the  shot  fired.  The  murderer  rushing 
from  the  gallery  brushed  past  him  as  he  was  coming  out 
of  his  room,  and  escaped. " 

"There  had  been  a  quarrel.''" 

He  gave  her  in  outline  the  contents  of  Undershaw's 
letter. 

"He  still  inherits?"  Her  eyes,  shone  as  he  came  to  the 
climax  of  the  story  —  Faversham's  refusal  of  the  gems  — 
Melrose's  threat.  The  trembhng  of  her  delicate  mouth 
urged  him  for  more  —  and  yet  more  —  light. 

"Everything  —  land,  money,  collections  —  under  the 
will  made  in  August.  You  see"  —  he  added,  sorely 
against  his  will,  yet  compelled,  by  the  need  of  protecting 
her  from  shock  —  "  the  opportuneness  of  the  murder. 
Their  relations  had  been  very  bad  for  some  time." 

"Opportuneness?"  She  just  breathed  it.  He  put  out 
his  hand  again,  and  took  hers. 

"You  know  —  Faversham  has  enemies?" 

She  nodded. 

"I've  been  one  myself,"  he  said  frankly.     "I  beUeve 


464  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

you  knew  it.  But  this  thing's  brought  me  up  sharp. 
One  may  think  as  one  hkes  of  Faversham's  conduct  —  but 
you  knew  —  and  I  know  —  that  he's  not  the  man  to  pay 
another  man  to  commit  murder!" 

"And  that's  what  they'll  say?"  The  colour  had 
rushed  back  into  her  cheeks. 

"That's  what  some  fool  might  say,  because  of  the 
grudge  against  him.  Well,  now,  we've  got  to  find  the 
murderer!"  He  rose,  speakmg  in  his  most  cheerful  and 
practical  voice,  "I'm  gomg  on  to  see  what  the  poUce  have 
been  doing.  The  inquest  will  probably  begin  to-morrow. 
But  I  wanted  to  prevent  your  being  startled  by  this 
horrible  news.  Trust  me  to  let  you  know  —  and  to  help 
—  all  I  can." 

Then  for  a  moment,  he  seemed  to  lose  his  self-possession. 
He  stood  before  her  awkwardly  conscious  —  a  moral 
trespasser  —  who  might  have  been  passing  bounds.  But 
it  was  her  turn  to  be  frank.  She  came  and  put  both  her 
hands  on  his  arm  —  looking  up  —  drawing  her  breath 
with  difficulty. 

"Harry,  I'm  going  to  tell  you.  I  ought  to  have  told 
you  more  that  night  —  but  how  could  I?  It  was  only  just 
then  I  knew  — that  I  cared.  A  httle  later  Mr.  Faver- 
sham  asked  me  to  many  him,  and  I  refused,  because  — 
because  of  this  money.  I  couldn't  take  it  —  I  begged 
him  not  to.  Never  mind!"  She  threw  her  head  back, 
gulping  down  tears.  "He  thought  me  unreasonable. 
But " 

"He  refused  —  and  left  you!"  cried  Tatham,  drinking- 
in  the  sweetness  of  her  pale  beauty,  as  Orpheus  might  have 
watched  the  vanishing  Eurydice. 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  465 

"He  had  such  great  ambitions  —  as  to  what  he'd  do  — 
with  this  money,"  she  said,  Hghtly  brushing  her  wet  eyes, 
and  trying  to  smile.  "It  wasn't  the  mere  fortune!  Oh, 
I  knew  that!" 

Tatham  was  silent.  But  he  gently  touched  her  hand 
with  his  own. 

"You'U  stand  by  him?  —  if  he  needs  it.'"  she  asked 
piteously. 

He  assured  her.  Then,  suddenly,  raising  herself  on 
tiptoe,  she  kissed  him  on  the  cheek.  The  blood  flew 
into  his  face,  and  bending  forward  —  timidly  —  he  laid 
his  lips  on  her  soft  brow.  There  was  a  pledge  in  it  — 
and  a  farewell.     She  drew  herseK  away. 

"The  first  —  and  the  last,"  she  said,  smiling,  and 
sighing.  "Now  we're  comrades.  I  await  your  news. 
Tell  me  if  I  can  help  —  throw  light?  I  know  the  people  — 
the  neighbourhood,  well.  And  when  you  see  Mr.  Faver- 
sham,  greet  him  from  me.  Tell  him  his  friends  here  feel 
•v\ath  him  —  and  for  him.  And  as  to  what  you  say  —  ah, 
no!  —  I'm  not  going  to  beheve  —  I  can't  beheve  —  that 
any  one  can  have  such  —  such  vile  thoughts !  The  truth 
will  soon  come  out !" 

She  held  herself  steadily. 

"We  must  find  the  murderer,"  Tatham  repeated,  and 
took  up  his  cap. 

Lydia  was  left  alone  in  the  little  breakfast-room. 
Susy  could  be  heard  moving  about  overhead;  she 
would  be  down  directly.  Meanwhile  the  winter 
sunshine  came  broadly  in;  the  singing  of  the  tea- 
kettle, the  crackle  of  the  fire  made  domestic  music.     But 


466  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Lydia's  soul  was  far  away.  It  stood  beside  Faversham, 
exulting. 

"Free!" — she  said  to  herself,  passionately — "free!" 
and  then  with  the  hyperbole  of  love  —  "I  talked  and 
moralized  —  he  did  it!" 

A  splendid  pride  in  him  possessed  her;  so  that  for  long 
she  scarcely  realized  the  tragedy  of  the  murder,  or  the  hor- 
ror of  the  slanderous  suspicion  now  starting  through  the 
dales.  But  yet,  long  before  the  day  was  over,  she  was 
conquered  by  grief  and  fear  —  a  very  miserable  and  rest- 
less Lydia.  No  word  came  from  him;  and  she  could  not 
write.  These  were  men's  affairs,  and  women  must  hold 
their  peace.  Yet,  in  spirit,  as  the  hours  passed,  she 
gave  herself  wholly  to  the  man  she  loved;  she  glorified 
him;  she  trampled  on  her  own  past  doubts;  she  pro- 
tected him  against  a  world  in  arms.  The  plant  of 
love  grew  fast  and  furiously  —  watered  by  pity  —  by  in- 
dignation. 

Meanwhile  Susy  treated  her  sister  very  kindly.  She 
specially  insisted  on  ordering  dinner,  and  writing  various 
business  letters;  though  Lydia  would  have  been  thankful 
to  do  both.  And  when  the  evening  came  on,  Mrs.  Pen- 
fold  trembling  with  excitement  and  horror,  chattered  end- 
lessly about  the  murder,  as  each  visitor  to  the  cottage 
brought  some  fresh  detail.  Lydia  seldom  answered  her. 
She  sat  on  the  floor,  with  her  face  against  her  mother's 
knee,  while  the  soft,  silly  voice  above  her  head  rambled 
and  rambled  on. 

Tatham  rode  back  to  Pengarth.  As  he  approached  one 
of  the  lodge  gates  of  Duddon,  a  man  came  toward  him  on 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  467 

a  bicycle.  Boden,  hot  and  dishevelled,  dismounted  as  he 
saw  Tatham. 

"I  thought  I  should  just  meet  you.  Lady  Tatham  has 
had  a  telephone  message  from  the  Chief  Constable, 
Colonel  Marvell.  There  is  a  man  missing  —  and  a  gun. 
Brand's  younger  son  has  not  been  seen  for  thirty-six 
hours.  He  has  been  helping  Andover's  head  keeper  for 
part  of  the  year,  as  a  watcher;  and  this  man,  Simpson,  had 
let  him  have  an  old  gun  of  his  —  a  muzzle-loader  —  some 
months  ago.     That  gun  can't  be  found." 

Tatham  sat  thunderstruck,  lights  breaking  on  his  face. 

"Well  —  there  was  cause  enough." 

Boden's  eyes  shone. 

"Cause.'  It  smelled  to  heaven!  Wild  justice  —  if  you 
like!  I  was  in  the  house  yesterday  afternoon,"  he  added 
quietly,  "just  before  the  old  man  died." 

"You  were.'*"  cried  Tatham,  amazed.  Yet  he  knew 
well  that  whenever  Boden  came  to  recruit  at  Duddon,  he 
spent  half  of  his  time  among  the  fell-farms  and  cottages. 
His  mind  was  invincibly  human,  greedy  of  common  life 
and  incident,  whether  in  London  or  among  the  dales.  He 
said  little  of  his  experiences  at  Duddon;  not  a  word,  for 
instance,  to  Tatham  or  Victoria,  the  night  before,  had 
revealed  his  own  share  in  the  old  farmer's  death  scene; 
but,  casually,  often,  some  story  would  drop  out,  some 
unsuspected  facts  about  their  next-door  neighbours,  their 
very  own  people,  which  would  set  Victoria  and  Tatham 
looking  at  each  other,  and  wondering. 

He  turned  now  to  walk  beside  Tatham's  horse.  His 
plain  face  with  its  beautiful  eyes,  and  lanky  straying  hair, 
spoke  of  a  ruminating  mind. 


468  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Tatham  asked  if  there  was  any  news  from  the  railway. 

"No  trace  so  far,  anywhere.  All  the  main  line  stations 
have  been  closely  watched.  But  Marvell  is  of  opinion 
that  if  young  Brand  had  anything  to  do  with  it  he  would 
certainly  give  the  railway  a  wide  berth.  He  is  much  more 
likely  to  take  to  the  fells.  They  tell  the  most  extraordinary 
tales  of  his  knowledge  of  the  mountains  —  especially  in 
snow  and  wild  weather.  They  say  that  shepherds  who 
have  lost  sheep  constantly  go  to  him  for  help!" 

" — ^You  know  him.''" 

"I  have  talked  to  him  sometimes.  A  queer  sulky 
fellow  with  one  or  two  fixed  ideas.  He  certainly  hated 
Melrose.  WTiether  he  hated  him  enough  to  murder  him 
is  another  question.  When  I  visited  them,  the  mother 
told  me  that  Will  had  rushed  out  of  the  house  the  night 
before,  because  he  could  not  endure  the  sight  of  his  father's 
suflFerings.  The  jury  I  suppose  will  have  to  know  that. 
Well!  —  You  were  going  on  to  Pengarth?" 

Tatham  assented.  Boden  paused,  leaning  on  his  bi- 
cycle. 

"Take  Threlfall  on  your  way.  I  think  Faversham 
would  like  to  see  you.  There  are  some  strange  things 
being  said.  Preposterous  things!  The  hatred  is  extra- 
ordinary." 

The  two  men  eyed  each  other  gravely.     Boden  added: 

"I  have  been  telling  your  mother  that  I  think  I  shall 
go  over  to  Threlfall  for  a  bit,  if  Faversham  will  have 
me." 

Tatham  wondered  again.  Faversham,  prosperous,  had 
been,  it  seemed  to  him,  a  special  target  for  Boden's 
scorn,  expressed  with  a  fine  range  of  revolutionary  epithet. 


THE  INIATING  OF  LYDIA  469 

But  calamity  of  any  kind  —  for  this  queer  saint  —  was  apt 
to  change  all  the  values  of  things. 

They  were  just  separating  when  Tatham,  with  sudden 
compunction,  asked  for  news  of  Mrs.  Melrose,  and 
Felicia. 

"I  had  ahnost  forgotten  them!" 

"Your  mother  did  not  tell  me  much.  They  were 
troubled  about  Mrs.  Melrose,  I  think,  and  Undershaw  was 
coming.  The  poor  little  girl  turned  very  white  —  no 
tears  —  but  she  was  clinging  to  your  mother." 

Tatham's  face  softened,  but  he  said  nothing.  The 
road  to  Threlfall  presented  itself,  and  he  turned  his  horse 
toward  it. 

"And  Miss  Penfold?"  said  Boden,  quietly.  "You 
arrived  before  the  newspapers?  Good.  I  think,  before 
I  return,  I  shall  go  and  have  a  talk  with  Miss  Penfold." 

And  mounting  his  bicycle  he  rode  off.  Tatham  looking 
after  him,  felt  uncomfortably  certain  that  Boden  knew 
pretty  well  all  there  was  to  know^  about  Lydia  —  Faver- 
sham  —  and  liimseK.     But  he  did  not  resent  it. 

Tatham  found  Threlfall  a  beleaguered  place,  police  at 
the  gates  and  in  the  house;  the  chief  constable  and  the 
Superintendent  of  police  established  in  the  dining-room,  as 
the  only  room  tolerably  free  from  the  all  encumbering 
collections,  and  interviewing  one  person  after  another. 

Tatham  asked  to  see  the  chief  constable.  He  made 
his  way  into  the  gallery,  which  was  guarded  by  police,  for 
although  the  body  of  Melrose  had  been  removed  to  an 
upper  room,  the  blood-stain  on  the  Persian  carpet,  the 
overturned  chair  and  picture,  the  mud-marks  on  the  wall 


470  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

remained  untouched,  awaiting  the  coroner's  jury,  which 
was  to  meet  in  the  house  that  evening. 

As  Tatham  approached  the  room  which  was  now  the 
headquarters  of  the  poHce,  he  met  coming  out  of  it  a 
couple  of  men;  one  small  and  sinewy,  with  the  air  of  a 
disreputable  athlete,  the  other  a  tall  pasty-faced  man  in 
a  shabby  frock  coat,  with  furtive  eyes.  The  first  was 
Nash,  Melrose's  legal  factotum  through  many  years;  the 
other  was  one  of  the  clerks  in  the  Pengarth  office,  who  was 
popularly  supposed  to  have  made  much  money  out  of  the 
Threlfall  estate,  through  a  long  series  of  small  peculations 
never  discovered  by  his  miserly  master.  They  passed 
Tatham  with  downcast  eyes  and  an  air  of  suppressed 
excitement  which  did  not  escape  him.  He  found  the  chief 
constable  pacing  up  and  down,  talking  in  subdued  tones, 
and  with  a  furrowed  brow,  to  the  Superintendent  of 
police. 

"Come  in,  come  in,"  said  Marvell  heartily,  at  sight  of 
the  young  man,  who  was  the  chief  landowner  of  the  dis- 
trict, and  likely  within  a  couple  of  years  to  be  its  lord 
lieutenant.  "We  want  your  help.  Everything  points  to 
young  Brand,  and  there  is  much  reason  to  think  he  is  still 
in  the  neighbourhood.  What  assistance  can  you  give 
«^. 

Tatham  promised  a  band  of  searchers  from  the  estate. 
The  Duddon  estate  itself  included  a  great  deal  of  moun- 
tain ground,  some  of  the  loneliest  and  remotest  in  the 
district,  where  a  man  who  knew  the  fells  might  very  well 
take  hiding.  Marvell  brought  out  a  map,  and  they  pored 
over  it. 

The  superintendent  of  police  departed. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  471 

Then  Mar  veil,  with  a  glance  at  the  door  to  see  that  it 
was  safely  shut,  said  abruptly: 

"You  know,  Faversham  has  done  some  unlucky 
things!" 

Tatham  eyed  him  interrogatively. 

"It  has  come  out  that  he  was  in  the  Brands'  cottage 
about  a  week  ago,  and  that  he  left  money  with  the  family. 
He  says  he  never  saw  the  younger  son,  and  did  not  in  fact 
know  him  by  sight.  He  offered  the  elder  one  some  money 
in  order  to  help  him  with  his  Canadian  start.  The  lad 
refused,  not  being  willing,  so  his  mother  says  —  I  have 
seen  her  myself  this  morning  —  to  accept  anything  from 
Melrose's  agent.  But  she,  not  knowing  where  to  look  for 
the  expenses  of  her  husband's  illness,  took  five  pounds 
from  Faversham,  and  never  dared  tell  either  of  her  sons." 

"Ail  perfectly  straightforward  and  natural,"  said 
Tatham. 

Marvell  looked  worried. 

"Yes.  But  you  see  how  the  thing  may  be  twisted  by 
men  like  those  two  —  curs!  —  who  have  just  been  here. 
You  saw  them?  They  came,  ostensibly,  to  answer  my 
questions  as  to  whether  they  could  point  us  to  any  one 
with  a  particular  grudge  against  Mr.  Melrose." 

" They  could  have  named  you  a  hundred!"  interrupted 
Tatham. 

"No  doubt.  But  what  their  information  in  the  end 
amounted  to"  —  the  chief  constable  came  to  stand  imme- 
diately in  front  of  Tatham,  lowering  his  voice  — "was  that 
the  only  person  with  a  really  serious  motive  for  destroying 
Melrose,  was"  —  he  jerked  his  thumb  in  the  direction  of 
Faversham's  sitting-room — "our  friend!      They  claim — 


472  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

both  of  them  —  to  have  been  spectators  of  the  growing 
friction  between  the  two  men.  Nash  says  that  Melrose 
had  spoken  to  him  once  or  twice  of  revoking,  or  altering 
his  will;  and  both  of  them  declare  that  Faversham  was 
quite  aware  of  the  possibility.  Of  course  these  things 
were  brought  out  apologetically  —  you  understand !  — 
with  a  view  of  'giving  Mr.  Faversham  the  opportunity  of 
meeting  the  reports  in  circulation,'  and  so  on  —  'calming 
public  opinion '  —  and  the  rest  of  it.  But  I  see  how  they 
will  work  it  up !  Then,  of  course,  that  the  man  got  access 
to  the  house  through  Faversham's  room  —  Faversham's 
window  left  open,  and  the  light  left  burning  —  by  his  own. 
story  —  is  unfortunate." 

"But  what  absurdity,"  cried  Tatham,  indignantly,  as  he 
rose.  "As  if  the  man  to  profit  by  the  plot  would  have  left 
that  codicil  on  the  table!" 

Marvell  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"That  too  might  be  twisted.  Why  not  a  supremely 
clever  stroke.'*  Well,  of  course  the  thing  is  absurd  — 
but  disagreeable  —  considering  the  circumstances.  The 
moral  is  —  find  the  man!  Good-day,  Lord  Tatham.  I 
understand  you  will  have  fifty  men  out  by  tliis  evening, 
assisting  the  pohce  in  their  search?" 

"At  least,"  said  Tatham,  and  departed. 

Outside,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  inquired 
of  the  police  in  charge  whether  Faversham  was  in  his 
room.  Being  told  that  he  was,  he  asked  leave  to  pass 
along  the  gallery.  An  officer  took  him  in  charge,  and  he 
stepped,  not  without  a  shudder,  past  the  blood-stained 
spot,  where  a  cruel  spirit  had  paid  its  debt.  The  man 
who  led  him  pointed  out  the  picture,  the  chair,  the  marks 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  47S 

of  the  muddy  soles  on  the  wainscotting,  and  along  the 
gallery  —  reconstructing  the  murder,  in  low  tones,  as 
though  the  dead  man  still  lay  there.  A  hideous  op- 
pression indeed  hung  over  the  house.  Melrose's  ghost 
held  it. 

The  poUce  officer  knocked  at  Faversham's  door. 
"Would  Mr.  Faversham  receive  Lord  Tatham?" 

Faversham,  risen  from  his  writing-table,  looked  at  his 
visitor  in  a  dull  astonishment. 

"I  have  come  to  bring  you  a  message,"  said  Tatham 
advancing,  neither  man  offering  to  shake  hands.  "I  saw 
Miss  Penfold  early  this  morning  —  before  she  got  the 
newspapers.  She  wished  me  to  bring  you  her  —  her 
sympathy.  She  was  very  much  shocked."  He  spoke 
with  a  certain  boyish  embarrassment.  But  his  blue  eyes 
looked  verj^  straight  at  Faversham. 

Faversham  changed  colour  a  httle,  and  thanked  him. 
But  his  aspect  was  that  of  a  man  worn  out,  incapable  for 
the  time  of  the  normal  responses  of  feeling.  He  showed 
no  sense  of  strangeness,  with  regard  to  Tatham's  visit, 
though  for  weeks  they  had  not  been  on  speaking  terms. 
Absently  offering  his  v-isitor  a  chair,  he  talked  a  httle  — 
disjointedly  —  of  the  events  of  the  preceding  evening, 
with  frequent  pauses  for  recollection. 

Tatham  eyed  him  askance. 

"I  say!    I  suppose  you  had  no  sleep?" 

Faversham  smiled. 

"  Look  here  —  hadn't  you  better  come  to  us  to-night.'*  — 
get  out  of  this  horrible  place?"  exclaimed  Tatham,  on  a 
sudden  but  imperative  impulse. 

"To  Duddon?"  Faversham  shook  his  head.     "Thank 


474  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

you  —  impossible."  Then  he  looked  up.  "Undershaw 
told  you  what  I  told  him.?" 

Tatham  assented.  There  was  an  awkward  pause  — 
broken  at  last  by  Faversham. 

"How  did  Miss  Melrose  get  home?" 

"Luckily  I  came  across  her  at  the  foot  of  the  Duddon 
hill,  and  I  helped  her  home.  She's  all  right  —  though  of 
course  it's  a  ghastly  shock  for  them." 

"I  never  knew  she  was  here  —  till  she  had  gone,"  ex- 
claimed Faversham,  with  sudden  animation.  "Other- 
wise —  I  should  have  helped  her." 

He  stood  erect,  his  pale  look  fixed  threateningly  on 
Tatham. 

"I'm  sure  you  would,"  said  Tatham,  heartily.  "Well 
now,  I  must  be  off.  I  have  promised  Marvell  to  put  as 
many  men  as  possible  to  work  in  with  the  poUce.  You 
have  no  idea  at  aU  as  to  the  identity  of  the  man  who  ran 
past  you.''" 

"None!"  Faversham  repeated  the  word,  as  though 
gToping  in  his  memory.  "  None.  I  never  saw  Will  Brand 
that  I  can  recoUect.  But  the  description  of  him  seems  to 
tally  with  the  man  who  knocked  me  over." 

"Well,  we'U  find  him,"  said  Tatham  briskly.  "Any 
message  for  Green  Cottage .''" 

"My  best  thanks.     I  am  very  grateful  to  them." 

The  words  were  formal.  He  sank  heavily  into  his 
chair,  as  though  wishing  to  end  the  interview.  Tatham 
departed. 

The  inquest  opened  in  the  evening.  Faversham  and 
the  Dixons  gave  their  evidence.     So  did  Undershaw  and 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  475 

the  police.  The  juiy  viewed  the  body,  and  leave  to  bury 
was  granted.     Then  the  inquiiy  adjourned. 

For  some  ten  days  afterward,  the  whole  of  the  Lake 
district  hung  upon  the  search  for  Brand.  From  the 
Scawfell  and  Buttermere  group  on  its  western  verge,  to  the 
Ullswater  mountains  on  the  east;  from  Skiddaw  and 
Blencathra  on  the  north,  southward  through  all  the 
shoulders  and  edges,  the  tarns  and  ghylls  of  the  Helveliyn 
range;  through  the  craggy  fells  of  Thirlmere,  Watendlath, 
Easedale;  over  the  high  plateaus  that  run  up  to  the  Pikes, 
and  fall  in  precipice  to  Stickle  Tarn;  through  the  v.ild 
clefts  and  corries  of  Bo^s-fell,  the  Crinkles,  Wetherlam  and 
the  Old  Man;  over  the  desolate  backs  and  ridges  that 
stretch  from  Kirkstone  to  Kentmere  and  Long  Sleddale, 
the  great  man-hunt  passed,  enlisting  ever  fresh  feet,  and 
fresh  eyes  in  its  service.  Every  shepherd  on  the  high  fells 
became  a  detective,  speeding  news,  or  urging  suggestions, 
by  the  old  freemasonrj'  of  their  tribe;  while  every  farm- 
house in  certain  dales,  within,  reach  of  the  scene  of  the 
murder,  sent  out  its  watchers  by  day  and  night,  eagerly 
contributing  its  men  and  its  wits  to  the  chase. 

For  in  this  chase  there  was  a  hidden  motive  which 
found  no  expression  in  the  local  papers;  of  which  men 
spoke  to  each  other  under  their  breaths,  when  they  spoke 
at  all;  but  which  none  the  less  became  in  a  very  short 
time,  by  the  lightning  spread  of  a  few  evU  reports,  through 
the  stubble  of  popular  resentment,  the  animating  passion 
at  the  heart  of  it.  The  poHce  and  Faversham's  few 
friends  were  searching  for  the  murderer  of  Melrose;  the 
public  in  general  were  soon  hunting  Faversham's  accom- 
plice.    The  discovery  of  Will  Brand  meant,  in  the  one  case. 


476  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

the  arrest  of  a  poor  crazy  fellow  who  had  avenged  by 
murder  his  father's  persecution  and  loiin;  in  the  other  case, 
it  meant  the  unmasking  of  an  educated  and  smooth- 
spoken villain,  who,  finding  a  vast  fortime  in  danger,  had 
taken  ingenious  means  to  secure  it.  In  this  black  sus- 
picion there  spoke  the  accumulated  hatred  of  years,  stored 
up  originally,  in  the  mind  of  a  whole  countryside,  against 
a  man  who  had  flouted  every  law  of  good  citizenship,  and 
strained  every  legal  right  of  property  to  breaking  point; 
-and  discharging  itself  now,  with  pent-up  force,  upon  the 
tyrant's  tool,  conceived  as  the  murderous  plotter  for  his 
miUions.  To  realize  the  strength  of  the  popular  feeling, 
as  it  presently  revealed  itself,  was  to  look  shuddering  into 
things  elemental. 

It  was  first  made  plain  on  the  day  of  Melrose's  funeral. 
In  order  to  avoid  the  concourse  which  might  attend  a 
burial  in  Whitebeck  parish  church,  lying  near  the  main 
road,  and  accessible  from  many  sides,  it  was  determined 
to  bury  him  in  the  graveyard  of  the  little  mountain  chapel 
on  the  fell  above  the  Penf olds'  cottage.  The  hour  was 
sunrise;  and  all  the  preparations  had  been  as  secretly 
made  as  possible.  But  when  the  dark  December  morn- 
ing arrived,  with  sleet  showers  whitening  all  the  slopes  of 
Helvellyn  and  the  gashed  breast  of  Blencathra,  a  dense 
crowd  thronged  all  the  exits  of  the  Tower,  and  lined  the 
steep  lanes  leading  to  the  chapel.  Faversham,  Cyril 
Boden,  and  a  Carlisle  solicitor  occupied  the  only  carriage 
which  followed  the  hearse.  Tatham  and  his  mother  met 
the  doleful  procession  at  the  chapel.  Lady  Tatham,  very 
pale  and  queenly,  walked  hand  in  hand  with  a  sHght  girl 
in  mourning.     As  the  multitude  outside  the  churchyard 


THE  JNIATING  OF  LYDIA  477 

caught  sight  of  the  pair,  a  thrill  ran  through  its  ranks.. 
Mehose's  daughter,  and  rightful  heiress  —  disinherited,, 
and  supplanted  —  by  the  black-haired  man  standing 
bareheaded  behind  the  coffin.  The  crowd  endured  the 
mockery  of  the  burial  service  in  a  sullen  silence.  Not  a 
head  uncovered.     Not  a  voice  joined  in  the  responses. 

Felicia  threw  back  her  veil,  and  the  onlookers  pressed  to 
the  churchyard  railings  to  see  the  delicate  face,  with  its 
strong  likeness  to  her  father.  She  meanwhile  saw  only 
Tatham.     Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  liim  from  first  to  last. 

But  there  were  two  other  ladies  in  the  churchyard. 
After  the  hurried  ceremony  was  over,  one  of  them  ap- 
proached Faversham.  He  took  her  hand  in  silence,  look- 
ing down  into  the  eyes  —  the  soul  —  of  Lydia.  With 
what  angelic  courage  and  cheer  that  look  was  charged,, 
only  its  recipient  knew. 

"Come  and  see  us,"  she  said,  softly. 

He  shook  his  head,  with  a  look  of  pain.  Then  he 
pressed  her  hand  and  they  separated.  As  he  appeared  at 
the  churchyard  gate,  about  to  enter  the  carriage  which 
was  waiting,  a  grim  low  groan  ran  through  the  throng 
which  filled  the  lane.  There  was  something  in  the  sound 
to  strike  a  shiver  through  the  strongest.  Faversham 
grew  perhaps  a  little  paler,  but  as  he  seated  himself  in  the 
carriage  he  examined  the  scowling  faces  near  him  with  a 
quiet  indifference,  which  scarcely  altered  when  Tatham 
came  conspicuously  to  the  carriage-door  to  bid  him 
farewell. 

The  days  that  followed  reminded  some  of  the  older 
dalesmen  of  the  stories  told  by  their  fathers  of  the  great 
and  famous  hunt,  a  century  ago,  after  the  sheep-slaying 


478  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

*'dog  of  Ennerdale,"  who  for  five  months  held  a  whole 
district  at  bay;  appearing  and  disappearing  phantom- 
like among  the  crags  and  mists  of  the  high  fells,  keeping 
shepherds  and  farming-folk  in  perpetual  excitement, 
watched  for  by  night  and  day,  hunted  by  hounds  and  by 
men,  yet  never  to  be  captured;  frightening  lovers  from 
their  trysts,  and  the  children  from  school;  a  presence  and  a 
terror  prevading  men's  minds,  and  suspending  the  or- 
dinary operations  of  life.  So  in  some  sort  was  it  with  the 
hunt  for  Will  Brand.  It  was  firmly  believed  that  in  the 
course  of  it  he  was  twice  seen;  once  in  the  loneliness  of 
Skiddaw  Forest,  not  far  from  the  gamekeeper's  hut,  the 
only  habitation  in  that  moorland  waste;  and  once  in  a 
storm  on  the  slopes  of  Great  Dodd,  when  a  shepherd, 
*' latin"  his  sheep,  had  suddenly  perceived  a  wild-looking 
feUow,  with  a  gun  between  liis  knees,  watching  him  from 
the  shelter  of  a  rock.  So  far  from  making  any  effort  to 
capture  the  man,  the  shepherd  had  fled  in  terror;  but  both 
neighbours  and  police  firmly  believed  that  he  had  seen  the 
murderer.  There  were  also  various  mysterious  thefts  of 
food  reported  from  mountain  farms,  indications  hotly 
followed  up  but  to  no  purpose.  Would  the  culprit, 
starved  out,  be  forced  in  time  to  surrender;  or  would  he 
die  of  privation  and  exposure  among  the  high  fells,  in  the 
snowdrifts,  and  leave  the  spring,  when  it  came,  to  uncover 
his  bones  .f* 

Toward  the  end  of  the  month  the  snowstorms  of  its 
earlier  days  passed  into  a  chiUy  and  continuous  rain; 
there  was  still  snow  on  the  heights.  The  steady  down- 
pour presently  flooded  the  rivers,  and  sent  the  streams 
racing  in  torrents  down  the  hills. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  479 

Christmas  was  over.  The  new  year  was  at  hand. 
One  afternoon,  Boden,  oppressed  in  spirit,  sallied  forth 
from  the  Tower  into  the  floods  and  mists  of  St.  John's 
Ysde.  He  himself  had  taken  no  part  in  the  great  pursuit. 
He  believed  now  that  the  poor  hunted  creature  would  find 
his  lonely  end  among  the  wintry  mountains,  and  rejoiced 
to  think  it  might  be  so.  The  adjourned  inquest  was  to  be 
resumed  the  following  day,  and  no  doubt  some  verdict 
would  be  returned.  It  was  improbable,  in  spite  of  the 
mahce  at  work,  that  any  attempt  would  be  made  — 
legally  —  to  incriminate  Faversham. 

It  was  of  Faversham  that  he  was  chiefly  thinking. 
When  he  had  first  proposed  his  companionship,  the  day 
after  the  murder,  it  had  been  quietly  accepted,  with  a 
softened  look  of  surprise,  and  he  and  Undershaw  had  since 
Icept  watch  over  a  bewildered  man,  protecting  him  as  far 
as  they  could  from  the  hostile  world  at  his  gates. 

How  he  would  emerge  —  what  he  meant  to  do  with 
Melrose's  vast  heritage,  Boden  had  no  idea.  His  life 
seemed  to  have  shrunk  into  a  dumb,  trancelike  state.  He 
rarely  or  never  left  the  house;  he  could  not  be  induced  to 
go  either  to  Duddon  or  to  the  Cottage;  nor  would  he 
receive  visitors.  He  had  indeed  seen  his  solicitors,  but 
had  said  not  a  word  to  Boden  on  the  subject.  It  was 
rumoured  that  Nash  was  already  endeavouring  to  per- 
suade a  distant  cousin  of  Melrose  and  Lady  Tatham  to 
dispute  the  will. 

Meanwhile,  through  Boden,  Lydia  Penfold  had  been 
kept  in  touch  with  a  man  who  could  not  apparently  bring 
himself  to  reopen  their  relation.  Boden  saw  her  nearly 
every  day;  they  had  become  fast  friends.     Victoria  too 


480  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

was  as  often  at  the  cottage  as  the  state  of  Netta  Melrose 
allowed,  and  she  and  Lydia,  bom  to  understand  each 
other,  had  at  last  arrived  thereat. 

But  Mrs.  Melrose  was  dying;  and  her  little  daughter. 
Si.  more  romantic  figure  than  ever,  in  the  public  eye,  was  to 
find,  it  said,  a  second  mother  in  Lady  Tatham. 

The  rain  clouds  were  swirling  through  the  dale,  as 
Boden  reached  its  middle  point,  pushing  his  way  against 
a  cold  westerly  blast.  The  stream,  which  in  summer 
chatters  so  gently  to  the  travellers  beside  it,  was  rushing  in 
a  brown  swift  flood,  and  drowning  the  low  meadows  on  its 
western  bank.  He  mounted  a  stone  foot-bridge  to  look 
&t  it,  when,  of  a  sudden,  the  curtain  of  cloud  shrouding 
Blencathra  was  torn  aside,  and  its  high  ridge,  razor-sharp, 
appeared  spectrally  white,  a  seat  of  the  storm-god,  in  a  far 
heaven.  The  hvid  lines  of  just-fallen  snow,  outlining  the 
cliffs  and  ravines  of  the  great  mountain,  stamped  its 
majesty,  visionlike,  on  the  senses.  Below  it,  some  scat- 
tered woods,  inky  black,  bent  under  the  storm,  and  the 
crash  and  darkness  of  the  lower  air  threw  into  clear  relief 
the  pallid  splendour  of  the  mountain-top. 

Boden  stood  enthralled,  when  a  voice  said  at  his  elbow : 
"Yo're  oot  on  a  clashy  night.  Muster  Boden!" 
He  turned.  Beside  him  stood  the  fugitive !  —  grinning 
weakly.  Boden  beheld  a  tottering  and  ghastly  figure. 
Distress  —  mortal  fatigue  —  breathed  from  the  haggard 
emaciation  of  face  and  limbs.  Round  the  shoulders  was 
folded  a  sack,  from  which  the  dregs  of  some  red  dipping 
mixture  it  had  once  contained  had  dripped  over  the 
youth's  chest  and  legs,  his  tattered  clothes  and  broken 
boots,  in  streams    of   what,  to  Boden's  startled  sense. 


THE  ]\IATING  OF  LYDIA  481 

looked  like  blood.  And  under  the  slouched  hat,  a  pair  of 
sunken  eyes  looked  out,  expressing  the  very  uttermost  of 
human  despair. 

"Brand!  —  where  have  you  been?" 

"Don't  touch  me,  sir!  I'll  go  —  don't  touch  me! 
There  ha'  been  hunnerds  after  me  —  latin  me  on  t'  fells. 
They've  not  catcht  me  —  an'  they'd  not  ha'  catcht  me  noo 
—  but  I'm  wore  oot.  I  ha'  been  followin  yo'  this  half- 
hour.  Muster  Boden.  I  could  ha'  put  yo'  i'  the  river 
fasst  enoof." 

A  ghastly  chuckle  in  the  darkness.     Boden  considered, 

"  Well,  now  —  are  you  going  to  give  yourself  up?  You 
see  —  I  can  do  nothing  to  force  you !  But  if  you  take  my 
advice,  you'll  go  quietly  with  me,  to  the  police  —  you'll 
make  a  clean  breast  of  it." 

"Will  they  hang  me.  Muster  Boden?" 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Boden  slowly.  "What  made 
you  do  it?" 

"I'd  planned  it  for  months  —  I've  follered  owd  Melrose 
many  times  —  I've  been  close  oop  to  'im  —  when  he  had 
noa  noshun  whati%^'er.  I  might  ha'  killt  him  —  a  doosen 
times  over.  He  wor  a  devil  —  an'  I  paid  him  oot !  I  was 
creepin'  round  t'  hoose  that  night  —  and  ov  a  suddent, 
there  was  a  door  openin',  an'  a  light.  It  seemed  to  be 
God  sayin',  'Theer's  a  way,  mon!  go  in,  and  do't!'  So  I 
went  in.  An'  I  saw  Muster  Faversham  coom  oot  —  an' 
Dixon.  An'  I  knew  that  he  wor  there  —  alone  —  the 
owd  fox!  —  an'  I  waited  —  an'  oot  he  came.  I  shot  'un 
straight.  Muster  Boden!     I  shot  'un  straight!" 

"You  never  told  any  one  what  you  were  going  to  do,. 
Brand?     Nobody  helped  you?" 


482  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

"Not  a  soul!  I'm  not  yo'r  blabbin'  sort!  But  now 
I'm  done  —  I'm  clemmed ! " 

And  he  tottered  against  the  bridge  as  he  spoke.  Boden 
caught  him. 

"Can  you  walk  with  my  help.^*     I  have  some  brandy." 

And  taking  from  his  pocket  the  tiny  flask  that  a  man 
v/ith  a  weak  heart  is  apt  to  carry,  he  put  it  into  a  shaking 
hand.     Brand  drank  it  greedily. 

They  stumbled  on  together,  down  the  narrow  road, 
through  the  streaming  rain.  It  was  a  mile  to  the  White- 
beck  police  station.  Brand  gave  a  gasping,  incoherent 
account  of  his  doings  during  his  ten  days  of  hiding  —  the 
various  barns  and  outhouses  he  had  sheltered  in  —  the 
food  he  had  been  able  to  steal  —  the  narrow  escapes  he 
had  run.  And  every  now  and  then,  the  frenzy  of  his 
liatred  for  the  murdered  man  would  break  in,  and  he 
would  throw  out  hints  of  the  various  mad  schemes  he  had 
entertained  at  different  times  for  the  destruction  of  his 
enemy. 

But  presently  he  ceased  to  talk.  It  was  evident  that 
Iiis  weakness  was  great;  he  clung  heavily  to  Boden's  arm. 

They  reached  a  point  where  a  road  branched  to  the 
left.     A  roar  of  furious  water  greeted  their  ears. 

"That's  t'  beck  unner  Wanthwaite  Bridge,"  said  Brand 
feebly.     "Wait  a  bit,  sir." 

He  sank  down  on  a  stone  by  the  roadside.  Through 
the  trees  on  the  left  the  foaming  river  glimmered  in  the 
departing  light.  Boden  bent  over  him,  encouraging  him 
with  the  promise  of  shelter  and  food,  murmuring  also  of 
God,  the  help  of  the  simier.     Suddenly  the  lad  leapt  up. 

"Aye!  that'll  end  it!  —  an'  a  good  job!" 


THE  ]MATING  OF  LYDIA  485 

He  began  to  run  up  the  left-hand  road.  Boden  pur- 
sued him,  struggled  with  him,  but  in  vain.  Brand  threw 
him  off,  reached  the  bridge,  mounted  the  parapet,  and 
from  there  flung  himself  headlong  into  the  spate  rushing 
furiously  below. 

At  the  same  moment  a  dog-cart  driven  by  two  young 
farmers  appeared  on  the  main  road  of  the  valley.  Boden's 
shouts  reached  them,  and  they  came  to  his  aid.  But 
Brand  had  disappeared.  The  river  swept  him  down  hke  a 
withered  branch;  and  it  was  many  hours  before  the  body 
was  recovered,  half  a  mile  from  the  spot  where  he  sank. 


xxn 

BODEN  was  just  coming  to  the  end  of  his  evidence. 
The  adjourned  inquest  on  Mehose,  held  ia  the 
large  parlour  of  the  old  Whitebeck  inn,  was 
densely  crowded,  and  the  tension  of  a  charged  moment 
might  be  felt.  Men  sat  gaping,  their  eyes  wandering  from 
the  jury  to  the  witness  or  the  gray -haired  coroner;  to 
young  Lord  Tatham  sitting  beside  the  tall  dark  man  who 
had  been  Mr.  Mehose's  agent,  and  was  now  the  inheritor 
of  his  goods;  to  the  alert  and  clean-shaven  face  of  Under- 
shaw,  Hstening  with  the  concentration  of  the  scientific 
habit  to  the  voice  from  the  witness-box.  And  through 
the  strained  attention  of  the  room  there  ran  the  stimulus 
of  that  gruesome  new  fact— the  presence  overhead  of  yet 
another  dead  man,  dragged  only  some  twenty -four  hoius 
earher  from  the  swollen  waters  of  the  river. 

The  murderer  had  been  found  —  a  comparatively  simple 
proceeding.  But,  in  the  finding  him,  the  ulcer  of  a  hideous 
suspicion,  spread  by  popular  madness,  and  inflamed  by 
popular  hatred,  had  also  been  probed  and  cleansed.  As 
Boden's  evidence  progressed,  building  up  the  story  of 
Brand's  sleuth-hound  pursuit  of  his  victim,  and  silently 
verified  from  point  to  point  by  the  local  knowledge  of  the 
audience,  the  change  in  the  collective  mind  of  this  typical 
gathering  of  shepherds,  farmers,  and  small  tradesmen 
might  have  been  compared  to  the  sudden  coming  of  soft 

484 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  485 

weather  into  the  u-on  tension,  the  bhick  silence,  of  a  great 
frost.  Gales  of  conipiuiction  blew;  of  self-interest  also; 
and  the  common  judgment  veered  with  them. 

After  the  inevitable  verdict  had  been  recorded,  a  fresli 
jury  was  empanelled,  and  there  was  a  stamping  of  sturdy 
Cumbrian  feet  up  the  inn  stairs  to  view^  the  pitiful  remains 
of  another  human  being,  botched  by  Nature  in  the  flesh, 
no  less  lamentably  than  Mehose  in  the  spirit.  The  legal 
inquiry  into  Brand's  flight  and  death  was  short  and  mostly 
formal;  but  the  actual  evidence  —  as  compared  with  cur- 
rent gossip  —  of  his  luckless  mother,  now  left  sonless  and 
husbandless,  and  as  to  the  relations  of  the  family  with 
Faversham,  hastened  the  meltiag  process  in  the  pubhe 
mind.  It  showed  a  man  in  bondage  indeed  to  a  tyrant; 
but  doing  what  he  could  to  lighten  the  hand  of  the  tyrant 
on  others;  privately  and  ineffectively  generous;  remorse^ 
ful  for  the  sins  of  another;  and  painfully  aware  of  his 
mixed  responsibility. 

Yet  naturally  there  were  counter  currents.  Andover, 
the  old  Cumbrian  squire,  whose  personal  friction  with 
Faversham  had  been  sharpest,  left  the  inn  with  a  much 
puzzled  mind,  but  not  prepared  as  yet  to  surrender  his 
main  opinion  of  a  young  man,  who  after  aU  had  feathered 
his  nest  so  uncommonly  well.     "They  may  say  what  they 

d n  please,"  said  the  furious  and  disappointed  Nasli. 

as  he  departed  in  company  with  his  shabby  accomplice, 
the  sallow-faced  clerk,  "but  he's  walked  off  with  the  dibs, 
an'  I  suppose  he  thinks  he'll  jolly  well  keep  'em.  The 
'cutest  young  scoundrel  I  ever  came  across!"  which, 
considering  the  range  of  the  speaker's  experience,  was 
testimony  indeed. 


486  THE  jVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

Regret,  on  the  one  hand,  for  a  monstrous  and  exposed 
surmise;  on  the  other,  instinctive  resentment  of  the  man's 
huge,  unearned  luck  under  the  will  that  Melrose  would 
have  revoked  had  he  lived  a  few  more  hours,  as  con- 
trasted with  the  phght  of  FeKcia  Melrose;  between  these 
poles  men's  minds  went  wavering.  Colonel  Barton  stood 
at  the  door  of  the  inn  before  Faversham  emerged  for  a 
few  undecided  moments,  and  finally  walked  away,  like 
Andover,  with  the  irritable  reflection  that  the  grounds  on 
which  he  had  orginaUy  cut  the  young  man  still  largely 
stood;  and  he  was  not  going  to  kow-tow  to  mere  money. 
He  would  go  and  have  tea  with  Lady  Tatham;  she  was 
a  sensible  woman.  Harry's  behaviour  seemed  to  him 
sentimental. 

Faversham,  Boden,  and  Harry  Tatham  left  the  inn 
together  and  were  joined  by  Undershaw  outside.  They 
walked  silently  through  the  irregular  village  street  where 
groups  stood  at  the  cottage  doors  to  see  them  pass.  As 
they  emerged  upon  the  high  road  the  three  others  per- 
ceived that  they  were  alone.     Faversham  had  disappeared. 

"Where  is  he.'^"  said  Tatham,  standing  amazed  and 
looking  back.  They  had  gained  the  crest  of  a  hill  whence, 
beyond  the  roofs  of  Whitebeck  in  the  hollow,  a  section 
of  the  main  road  could  be  dimly  seen,  running  west  a 
white  streak  piercing  the  wintry  dusk.  Along  the  white 
streak  moved  something  black  —  the  figure  of  a  man. 
Boden  pointed  to  it. 

"Where's  he  going.''"  The  question  fell  involuntarily 
from  Undershaw. 

Boden  did  not  reply.  But  as  Undershaw  spoke  there 
flashed  out  a  distant  light  on  the  rising  ground  beyond  the 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  487 

streak  of  road.  Above  it,  huddled  shapes  of  mountains, 
dying  fast  into  the  darkness.  They  all  knew  it  for  a  light 
in  Green  Cottage;  the  same  that  Tatham  had  watched 
from  the  Duddon  moorland  on  the  evening  of  the  murder. 
They  turned  and  walked  on  silently  toward  the  lower  gate 
of  Duddon. 

"What's  he  going  to  do  about  the  money?"  said 
Undershaw  abruptly. 

Boden  turned  upon  him,  almost  with  rage. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  give  him  time !  — it's  positively 
indecent  to  rush  a  man  who's  gone  through  what  that 
man's  gone  through!" 

Faversham  pursued  his  way  toward  the  swelling  upland 
which  looks  south  over  St.  John's  Vale,  and  north  toward 
Skiddaw.  He  went,  led  by  a  passionate  impulse,  sternly 
restrained  till  this  moment.  Led  also  by  the  vision  of  her 
face  as  it  had  been  lifted  to  him  beside  the  grave  of  INIel- 
rose.  Since  then  he  had  never  seen  her.  But  that  Boden 
had  written  to  her  that  morning,  early,  after  the  recover;,'' 
of  Brand's  body,  he  knew. 

The  moon  shone  suddenly  behind  him,  across  the  waste 
of  Fhtterdale,  and  the  lower  meadows  of  St.  John's  Vale. 
It  struck  upon  the  low  white  house  amid  its  trees. 

"Is  Miss  Penfold  at  home.?" 

The  maid  recognized  him  at  once,  and  in  her  agitation 
almost  lost  her  head.  As  she  led  him  in,  a  little  figure  in  a 
white  cap  with  streamers  fluttered  across  the  hall. 

"OA,  Mr.  Faversham!"  said  a  soft,  breathless  voice. 

But  Mrs.  Penfold  did  not  stop  to  speak  to  him.  Gather- 
ing up  her  voluminous  black  skirts,  and  her  shawls  that 


488  THE  jVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

were  falling  oflF  her  shoulders,  she  hurried  upstairs.  There 
followed  a  thin  girl  with  dark  hair  piled  above  dark  eyes. 

"Lydia  is  in  tlie  drawing-room,"  said  Susy,  with 
dramatic  depth  of  voice;  and  the  two  disappeared. 

When  he  entered,  Lydia  was  standing  by  the  fire.  The 
light  of  some  blazing  wood,  and  of  one  small  lamp,  filled 
the  pretty  room  with  colour  and  soft  shadows.  Among 
them,  the  slender  form  in  its  black  dress,  the  fair  head 
thrown  back,  the  outstretched  hands  were  of  a  loveliness 
that  arrested  him  —  almost  unmanned  him 

She  came  forward. 

"You've  been  so  long  coming!" 

The  intonation  of  the  words  expressed  the  yearning 
of  many  days  and  nights.  They  were  not  a  reproach; 
rather,  an  exquisite  revelation. 

He  took  her  hands,  and  slowly,  irresistibly  he  drew  her; 
and  she  came  to  him.  He  bowed  his  face  upon  hers,  and 
the  world  stood  still!  Through  the  emotion  of  that 
supreme  moment,  with  its  mingled  cup  of  joy  and  remem- 
bered bitterness  there  ran  for  him  a  touch  of  triumph 
natural  to  his  temperament.  She  had  asked  no  promise 
from  him;  reminded  him  of  no  condition;  made  no  reserva- 
tion. There  she  was  upon  his  breast.  The  male  pride 
in  him  was  appeased.  Self-respect  seemed  once  more 
possible. 

Hand  in  hand,  they  sat  down  together  by  the  fire. 
He  gave  her  an  account  of  the  double  inquest,  and  the 
result. 

"When  we  came  out,"  he  added,  calmly,  "there  were 
not  quite  so  many  ready  to  lynch  me  as  before." 

Her  hand  trembled  in  his.     The  horror  of  his  experience. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  489 

the  anguished  sympathy  of  hers,  spoke  in  the  slight  move- 
ment, and  the  pressure  that  answered  it.  Some  day,  but 
not  yet,  it  would  be  possible  to  put  it  into  words. 

"And  I  might  do  notliing!"  she  breathed. 

"Notliing!"  He  smiled  upon  her,  but  his  tone  brought 
a  shudder  —  the  shudder  of  the  traveller  who  looks  back 
upon  the  inch  which  has  held  him  from  the  abyss.  But 
for  Cyril  Boden's  adventure  of  the  night  before,  would 
she  ever  have  seen  him  again? 

"I  was  a  long  time  with  my  solicitors  this  morning," 
he  said  abruptly. 

"Yes?"  She  turned  her  face  to  his;  but  his  morbid 
sense  could  detect  in  it  no  sign  of  any  special  interest. 

"The  will  was  opened  on  the  day  of  the  funeral.  It  was 
a  great  surprise.  I  had  reason  to  suppose  that  it  con- 
tained a  distinct  provision  invalidating  all  bequests  to  me 
should  I  propose  to  hand  over  any  of  the  property,  or 
money  derived  from  the  property,  to  Felicia  Melrose,  or 
her  mother.  But  it  contained  nothing  of  the  kind.  The 
first  draft  of  the  will  was  sent  to  his  solicitors  at  the  end  of 
•July.  They  put  it  into  form,  and  it  was  signed  the  day 
after  he  communicated  his  intentions  to  me.  There  is  no 
doubt  whatever  that  he  meant  to  insert  such  a  clause.  He 
spoke  of  it  to  me  and  to  others.  I  thought  it  was  done 
But  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  never  either  drafted  it  himself, 
or  gave  final  instructions  for  it.  His  Carlisle  man  — ■ 
Hanson  —  thought  it  was  because  of  his  horror  of  death. 
He  had  put  off  making  his  will  as  long  as  posable  —  got  it 
done  —  and  then  could  not  bring  himself  to  touch  it  again ! 
To  send  for  it  back  —  to  finger  and  fuss  with  it  —  seemed 
to  bring  death  nearer  and  he  did  not  mean  to  die." 


490  THE  INiATING  OF  LYDIA 

He  paused,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  The 
visualizing  sense,  stimulated  by  the  nerve  strain  of  the 
preceding  weeks,  beheld  with  ghastly  clearness  the  face  of 
Melrose  in  death,  with  the  blood-stain  on  the  Mps. 

"And  so,"  he  resumed,  "there  was  no  short  way  out. 
By  merely  writing  to  Miss  Melrose,  to  offer  her  a  fortune, 
it  was  not  possible  to  void  the  will." 

He  paused.  The  intensity  of  his  look  held  her  motion- 
less, 

"You  remember  —  how  I  refused  —  when  you  asked  me 
—  to  take  any  steps  toward  voiding  it.''" 

Her  lips  made  a  dumb  movement  of  assent. 

"But  —  at  last  —  I  took  them.  In  the  final  interview 
I  had  with  Melrose,  he  threatened  me  with  the  cancelling 
of  his  will,  unless  I  consented  —  Tatham  has  told  you  — 
to  sell  him  my  uncle's  gems.  I  refused.  And  so  far  as 
words  could,  he  there  and  then  stripped  me  of  his  property. 
It  is  by  the  mere  accident  of  his  murder  at  that  precise 
moment  that  it  has  come  to  me.  Now  then  —  what  is  to 
be  done?" 

Her  hand  slipped  further  into  his.  For  a  few  minutes 
he  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  the  silent  reconstruction  of 
past  trains  of  thought,  emerging  with  a  cry  —  though  it 
was  under  his  breath: 

"If  I  took  his  money  now  —  against  his  will  —  I  should 
feel  his  yoke  —  his  hateful  yoke  —  again,  on  my  neck !  I 
should  be  his  slave  still." 

**  You  shall  not  take  it ! "  she  said  with  passion. 

He  smiled  at  her  suddenly. 

"It  is  nothing  to  Lydia,  to  be  poor?" 
^  "And  free  —  and  happy  —  and  alive!  —  no,  nothing!" 


He  came  to  kneel  down  by  her,  and  took  her  in  his  arms 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  491 

At  that  he  could  only  draw  her  to  him  again.  She  her- 
seK  must  needs  bring  him  back  to  the  point. 

"  You  have  decided.^  " 

"I  could  of  course  refuse  the  succession.  That  would 
throw  the  whole  property  into  Chancery;  the  personalty 
would  go  to  the  mother  and  daughter,  the  real  estate  to 
whatever  legal  heirs  could  be  discovered.  There  are  some 
distant  cousins  of  Lady  Tatham,  I  beheve.  However  — 
that  did  not  attract  me  at  all." 

He  rose  from  his  seat  beside  her,  and  stood  looking  down 
upon  her. 

"You'll  reahze.'' — you'll  understand.''  —  that  it  seems 
to  me  just  —  and]  desirable  —  that  I  should  have  some 
voice  in  the  distribution  of  this  money,  this  and  land, 
rather  than  leave  it  all  to  the  action  of  a  court.  Every- 
thing —  as  things  are  —  is  legally  mine.  The  personalty 
is  immense;  there  are  about  thirty  thousand  acres  of  land, 
here  and  elsewhere;  and  the  collections  can't  be  worth 
much  less  than  half  a  miUion.  I  decline  to  own  them ; 
but  I  intend  to  settle  what  becomes  of  them !  Nash  and 
others  say  they  will  dispute  the  will.  They  won't.  There 
is  no  case.  As  to  the  personalty  and  the  land  —  well, 
well,  you'll  see!  As  to  the  collections  —  I  mean  to  make 
them,  if  I  can,  of  some  use  to  the  community.  And  in  that 
effort"  —  he  spoke  slowly — "  I  want  you  to  help  me! " 

Their  eyes  met;  hers  full  of  tears.  She  tried  to  sjjeak, 
and  could  not.  He  came  to  kneel  down  by  her  and  took 
her  in  his  arms. 

"Did  you  think  I  had  sold  myself  to  the  devil  last  time 
I  was  here.''" 

"  I  was  so  harsh ! — forgive     .     .     ."  she  said  brokenly. 


492  THE  JNIATING  OF  LYDIA 

"No.     You  called  things  by  their  right  names." 

There  was  silence  till  he  murmured : 

"Isn't  it  strange?  I  had  quite  given  up  prayer  —  till 
these  last  weeks.  To  pray  for  any  definite  physical  or 
material  thing  would  seem  to  me  now  —  as  it  always  has 
done  —  absurd.  But  to  reach  out  —  to  the  Power  beyond 
our  weakness!" 

He  paused  a  moment  and  resumed: 

"Boden  did  that  for  me.  He  came  to  me — at  the  worst. 
He  never  preached  to  me.  He  has  his  black  times  —  like 
the  rest  of  us.  But  something  upholds  him  —  and  —  oh  I 
so  strangely  —  I  don't  think  he  knew  —  through  him  —  I 
too  laid  hold.  But  for  that  — I  might  have  put  an  end  to 
myself  —  m»re  than  once  —  these  last  weeks." 

She  clung  to  him  —  whispering: 

"Neither  of  us  —  can  ever  suffer  —  again  —  without 
the  other  —  to  help." 

They  kissed  once  more,  love  and  youth  welling  up  in 
them,  and  drowning  out  of  sight,  for  the  moment  at  least, 
the  shapes  and  images  of  pain.  Then  recovering  his  com- 
posure, hand  fast  in  hand,  Faversham  began  to  talk  more 
calmly,  drawing  out  for  her  as  best  he  could,  so  that  it  need 
not  be  done  again  —  and  up  to  the  very  evening  of  the 
murder  —  the  history  of  the  nine  montlis  which  had,  so 
to  speak,  thrown  his  whole  being  into  the  melting-pot, 
and  through  the  fusing  and  bruising  of  an  extraordinary 
experience,  had  remade  a  man.  She  listened  in  a  happy 
bewilderment.  It  struck  her  newly  —  astonishingly.  Her 
love  for  him  had  always  included  a  tenderly  maternal, 
pitying  element.  She  had  felt  herself  the  maturer  char- 
acter.    Sympathy  for  his  task,  flattered  pleasure  in  her 


THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA  493 

Egeria  role,  deepening  Into  something  warmer  and  in  tenser 
with  every  letter  from  him  and  every  meeting,  even  when 
she  disputed  with  and  condemned  him;  love  in  spite  of 
herself;  love  with  which  conscience,  taste,  aspiration,  all 
quarrelled;  but  love  nevertheless,  the  love  which  good 
women  feel  for  the  man  that  is  both  weaker  and  stronger 
than  themselves  — it  was  so  she  might  have  read  her  own 
past,  if  the  high  passion  of  this  ultimate  moment  had  not 
blurred  it. 

But  "Life  at  her  grindstone"  had  been  busy  with 
Faversham,  and  in  the  sifted  and  sharpened  soul  laid  bare 
to  her,  the  woman  recognized  her  mate  indeed.  Face  to 
face  with  cruelty  and  falsehood,  in  others,  and  with  the 
potentialities  of  them  in  his  own  nature;  dazzled  by  money 
and  power;  and  at  last,  delivered  from  the  tyranny  of  the 
as  though  by  some  fierce  gaol-delivering  angel,  Faversham 
had  found  himself;  and  such  a  self  as  could  never  have 
been  reasonably  prophesied  for  the  discontented  idler 
who  in  the  May  meadows  had  first  set  eyes  on  Lydia 
Penfold. 

He  sketched  for  her  his  dream  of  what  might  be  done 
with  the  treasures  of  the  Tower. 

Through  all  his  ugly  wrestle  with  Melrose,  with  its 
disappointments  and  humiliations,  his  excavator's  joy  in 
the  rescue  and  the  setting  in  order  of  Melrose's  amazing 
possessions  had  steadily  grown  of  late,  the  only  pleasure  of 
his  day  had  come  from  handling,  cleaning  and  cataloguing 
the  lovely  forgotten  things  of  which  the  house  was  full. 
These  surfaces  of  ivory  and  silver,  of  stucco  or  marble,  of 
wood  or  canvas,  pottery  or  porcelain,  on  which  the  human 


494  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

mind,  in  love  with  some  fraction  of  the  beauty  interwoven 
with  the  world,  had  stamped  an  impress  of  itself,  sometimes 
exquisite,  sometimes  whimsical,  sometimes  riotous  — 
above  all,  living,  life  reaching  to  life,  through  the  cen- 
turies: these,  from  a  refuge  or  an  amusement,  had  become 
an  abiding  delight,  something,  moreover,  that  seemed  to 
point  to  a  definite  lifework  —  paid  honourably  by  cash  as 
well  as  pleasure. 

What  would  she  think,  he  asked  her,  of  a  great  Museum 
for  the  north  —  a  centre  for  students  —  none  of  your 
brick  and  iron  monstrosities,  rising  amid  slums,  but  a 
beautiful  house  showing  its  beautiful  possessions  to  all 
who  came;  and  set  amid  the  streams  and  hills?  And  in 
one  wing  of  it,  perhaps,  curator's  rooms  —  where  Lydia, 
the  dear  lover  of  nature  and  art,  might  reign  and  work  — 
fitly  housed?     .     .     . 

But  his  brow  contracted  before  she  could  smile. 

"Some  time  perhaps  —  some  time  —  not  now!  Let's 
forget  —  for  a  little.  Lydia  —  come  away  with  me  — 
let's  be  alone.     Oh,  my  dear!  — let's  be  alone!" 

She  was  in  his  arms  again,  calming  the  anguish  that 
would  recur  —  of  those  nights  in  the  Tower  after  the 
murder,  when  it  had  seemed  to  him  that  not  Brand,  but 
himself,  was  the  prey  that  a  whole  world  was  hunting, 
with  Hate  for  the  huntsman. 

But  presently,  as  they  clung  to  each  other  in  the  fire- 
light, he  roused  himself  to  say : 

"Now,  let  me  see  your  mother;  and  then  I  must  go. 
There  is  much  to  do.  You  will  get  a  note  from  Lady 
Tatham  to-night." 

She  looked  up  startled.     And  then  it  came  over  her. 


THE  jMATING  of  LYDIA  495 

that  he  had  never  really  told  her  what  he  meant  to  do  with 
jNIelrose's  money.  She  had  no  precise  idea.  Their  minds 
jumped  together,  and  she  saw  the  first  laugh  in  his  dark 
eyes. 

"  I  shan't  tell  you  I  Beloved  —  be  good  and  wait !  But 
you  guess  already.     We  meet  to-morrow  —  at  Duddon." 

She  asked  no  question.  The  thin  mystery  —  for  her 
thoughts  did  indeed  drive  through  it  —  pleased  her;  espe- 
cially because  it  seemed  to  please  him. 

Then  jVIrs.  Penfold  and  Susy  were  brought  down,  and 
Mrs.  Penfold  sat  amid  explanations  and  embraces,  more 
feather-headed  and  inconsequent  even  than  usual,  but 
happy,  because  Lydia  caressed  her,  and  this  handsome 
though  pale  young  man  on  the  hearthrug  kissed  her  hand 
and  even,  at  command,  her  still  pink  cheek;  and  it  seemed 
there  was  to  be  a  marriage  —  only  not  the  marriage  there 
should  have  been  —  a  substitution,  clearly,  of  Threlf all  for 
Duddon.''  Lydia  would  live  at  Threlf  all;  woukl  be  im- 
mensely rich;  and  there  would  be  no  more  bloodhounds 
in  the  park. 

But  when  Faversham  was  gone,  and  realities  began  to 
sink  into  the  little  lady's  mind,  as  Lydia  sitting  at  her  feet, 
and  holding  her  hand,  tried  to  infuse  them,  dejection 
followed.  No  coronet !  — and  now,  no  fortune !  She  did 
not  imderstand  these  high-stepping  morals,  and  she  went 
sadly  to  bed;  though  never  had  Lydia  been  so  sweet  to  her, 
so  ready  to  brush  her  hair  by  the  fire  as  long  as  ever  she 
chose,  so  full  of  daughterly  promises. 

Susy  kissed  her  sister  when  they  were  alone,  tenderly 
but  absently. 

"You're  a  rare  case,  Lydia  —  unique,  I  think.     The 


496  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Greeks  would  call  you  something  —  I  forget!  I  should 
really  like  to  understand  the  psj^chology  of  it.  It  might 
be  useful." 

Lydia  bantered  her  a  little  —  rather  sorely.  But  the 
emotions  of  her  family  would  always  be  so  much  "copy" 
to  Susy;  and  the  fact  did  not  in  the  least  prevent  her  being 
a  warm-hearted,  and,  in  her  own  way,  admirable  little 
person. 

Finally,  Lydia  turned  the  tables  on  her,  by  throwing 
an  arm  round  her  neck,  and  inquiring  whether  Mr.  Weston 
had  not  paid  her  a  very  long  call  the  day  before.  Susy 
quietly  admitted  it,  and  added:  "But  I  told  him  not 
to  call  again.  I'm  afraid  —  I'm  bored  with  him.  There 
are  no  mysteries  in  his  character  —  no  lights  and  shades 
at  all.  He  is  too  virtuous  —  monotonously  so.  It  would 
be  of  no  technical  advantage  to  me  whatever,  to  fall  in 
love  with  him." 

That  evening  came  a  note  from  Lady  Tatham: 

"My  Dear  Lydia: 

"We  expect  you  to-morrow  at  11 :  30.  Mr.  Faversham 
has  asked  that  we  —  and  you  —  Cyril  Boden,  Doctor 
Undershaw,  old  Dixon,  and  Felicia  (her  poor  mother  is 
very  ill,  and  we  hear  news  to-day  of  the  sudden  death  of 
the  old  grandfather)  —  should  meet  him  at  tliat  hour  in 
Harry's  library.  And  afterward,  you  will  stay  to  lunch? 
My  dear,  you  have  in  this  house  two  warm  friends  who 
love  you  and  long  to  see  you.  Each  hour  that  passes 
grows  more  thrilling  than  the  last.     .     .     . 

"  I  have  been  spending  some  time  with  old  Mrs.  Brand — 
and  I  told  her  I  knew  you  would  go  to  her  to-morrow. 
They  have  given  her  her  dead  son  —  and  she  sits  with  his 


THE  ]VL\TING  OF  LYDIA  497 

feet  against  her  breast.     She  loved  him  best  of  all.     One 
thinks  of  Rizpah  gathering  the  bones." 

Next  morning  Tatham  was  in  his  library  before  eleven, 
making  a  pretence  of  attending  to  some  County  Comicil 
business,  but  in  truth  restless  with  expectation,  and  think- 
ing of  nothing  but  the  events  immediately  ahead. 

What  was  going  to  happen? 

Faversham  no  doubt  was  going  to  propose  some  division 
of  the  Melrose  inheritance  with  Felicia,  and  some  adequate 
provision  for  the  mother.  Only  a  few  weeks  before  this 
date  Tatham  had  been  m  a  mood  to  loathe  the  notion  that 
Felicia  should  owe  a  fortune,  small  or  great,  to  the  charity 
of  a  greedy  intruder.  To-day  he  awaited  Faversham's 
visit  as  a  friend,  prepared  to  welcome  his  proposals  in  the 
spirit  of  a  friend,  to  put,  that  is,  the  best  and  not  the  worst 
interpretation  upon  them.  After  all,  the  fortune  was 
legally  his;  and  if  Melrose  had  died  intestate,  Felicia  and 
her  mother  would  only  have  shared  with  some  remote 
heirs  with  far  less  claim  than  Faversham. 

He  owed  this  change  of  temper  —  he  knew  —  simply 
to  the  story  which  Undershaw  had  brought  him  of  the  last 
scene  between  Faversham  and  Melrose.  That  final 
though  tardy  revolt  had  fired  the  young  man's  feelings 
and  drowned  his  wraths.  In  his  secret  mind,  he  left 
Brand's  shot  uncondemned;  and  the  knowledge  that 
before  that  final  coup  was  given,  the  man  whom  Melrose 
had  alternately  bribed  and  bullied  had  at  last  found 
strength  to  turn  upon  him  in  defiance,  flinging  his  money 
in  his  face,  had  given  infinite  satisfaction  to  Harry's  own 
hatred  of  a  tyrant.     Faversham,  even  more  than  Brand, 


498  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

had  avenged  them  all.     The  generous,  pugnacious  youth 
was  ready  to  take  Faversham  to  his  heart. 

And  yet,  not  without  uneasiness,  some  dread  of  reaction 
in  himself,  if  —  by  chance  —  they  were  all  mistaken  in 
their  man!  Neither  Boden,  nor  Undershaw,  nor  he  had 
any  definite  idea  of  the  conclusions  to  which  Faversham 
had  come.  He  had  not  had  a  word  to  say  to  them  on  that 
head;  although,  during  these  ghastly  weeks,  when  they 
had  acted  as  buffers  between  him  and  an  enraged  populace, 
relations  of  intimacy  had  clearly  grown  up  between  him 
and  Boden,  and  both  Undershaw  and  Tatham  had  been 
increasingly  conscious  of  liking,  even  respect,  for  a  much- 
abused  man. 

Oh,  it  was  —  it  would  be  —  all  right !  Lydia  would  see 
to  it! 

Lydia!  A'Vliat  a  letter  that  was  the  post  had  brought 
him  —  what  a  letter,  and  what  a  woman !  He  sighed, 
thinking  with  a  rueful  though  satiric  spirit  of  all  those 
protestations  of  hers  in  the  summer,  as  to  independence, 
a  maiden  life,  and  the  rest.  And  now  she  confessed  that, 
from  the  beginning,  it  had  been  Faversham.  Why.? 
What  had  she  seen  in  him.?  The  young  man's  vanity  no 
less  than  his  love  had  been  sore  smitten.  But  the  pain 
was  passing.  And  she  was,  and  would  always  be,  a  dear 
woman,  to  whom  he  was  devoted. 

He  had  pushed  aside  his  letters,  and  was  pacing  his 
library.  Presently  he  turned  and  went  into  a  small  inner 
room,  his  own  particular  den,  where  he  kept  his  college 
photographs,  some  stuffed  and  now  decaying  beasts, 
victims  of  his  earliest  sport,  and  many  boxes  of  superb 
toy  soldiers,  the  passion  of  his  childhood.     There  on  the 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  499 

wall,  screened  from  vulgar  eyes,  hung  five  water-colour 
drawings.  He  went  to  look  at  them  —  sentimentally. 
Had  the  buying  of  anything  in  the  world  ever  given  him 
so  much  pleasure? 

As  he  stood  there,  he  was  suddenly  aware  of  a  voice  — 
a  girl's  voice  overhead,  singing.  He  turned  and  saw  that 
the  window  was  open  to  the  mild  December  air.  No 
doubt  the  window  on  the  story  above  was  open  too.  It 
was  Felicia  —  and  the  sound  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
risen.  Just  a  phrase,  a  stormy  phrase,  from  an  Itahan 
folk-song  which  he  had  heard  her  sing  to  his  mother.  He 
caught  the  usual  words  — "77iorie" — '"aynore."  They  were 
the  staple  of  all  her  songs;  to  tell  the  truth  he  was  often 
bored  by  them.  But  the  harsh,  penetrating  note  —  as 
though  it  were  a  note  of  anger  —  in  the  sudden  sound, 
arrested  him;  and  when  it  became  silent,  he  still  thought 
of  it.     It  was  a  strange,  big  voice  for  so  small  a  creature. 

He  was  glad  to  hear  that  she  could  sing  again.  Nobody 
imagined  that  she  could  regret  her  father;  but  certainly  the 
murder  had  sharply  affected  her  nerves  and  imagination. 
She  had  got  hold  of  the  local  paper  before  they  could  keep 
it  from  her;  and  for  nights  afterward,  according  to  his 
mother  she  had  not  been  able  to  sleep.  He  himself  had 
tried  of  late  to  distract  her.  He  had  asked  her  to  ride  with 
him;  he  had  brought  her  books  and  flowers.  To  no  avail. 
She  was  very  short  and  shy  with  him;  only  happy,  ap- 
parently, with  his  mother,  to  whom  her  devotion  was 
extraordinary.  To  her  own  mother,  so  Lady  Tatham  re- 
ported, she  was  as  good  —  as  gentle  even  —  as  her  tem- 
perament allowed.  But  there  was  a  deep  discrepancy 
between  them. 


500  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

As  to  Mrs.  Melrose,  whose  life,  according  to  the  doctor, 
was  only  a  matter  of  weeks,  possibly  months,  Victoria 
believed  that  the  shock  of  her  old  father's  death  had  af- 
fected her  much  more  acutely  than  the  murder  of  her 
husband.  She  fretted  perpetually  that  she  had  left  her 
father  to  strangers,  and  that  she  could  not  help  to  lay  him 
in  his  grave.  Felicia  too  had  cried  a  httle,  but  had  soon 
consoled  herself  with  the  sensible  reflection  —  so  it  seemed 
to  Tatham  —  that  at  least  her  poor  old  Babbo  was  now 
out  of  his  troubles. 

His  thoughts  strayed  on  to  the  coming  hour  and  Felicia's 
future.  It  amused  the  young  man's  mere  love  of  "eventful 
living"  to  imagine  her  surprise,  if  what  he  shrewdly  sup- 
posed was  going  to  happen,  did  happen.  But  no  one  could 
say  —  little  incalculable  thing! — how  she  would  take  it. 

The  handle  of  the  door  was  turned,  and  some  one 
entered.  He  looked  round,  and  saw  Felicia.  Her  black 
dress  emphasized  the  fairy  like  delicacy  of  her  face  and 
hands ;  and  something  in  her  look  —  some  sign  of  smoth- 
ered misery  or  revolt  —  touched  Tatham  sharply.  He 
hurried  to  her,  biding  her  good  morning,  for  she  had  not 
appeared  at  breakfast. 

"And  I  wanted  to  see  you  before  they  all  come.  How 
is  your  mother?  " 

"Just  the  same."  She  allowed  him  but  the  slightest 
touch  of  her  small  fingers  before  she  turned  abruptly  to 
the  row  of  water-colours.     "  Who  painted  those.'' " 

"Miss  Penfold.  Don't  you  know  what  a  charming 
artist  she  is.?*" 

"They  are  not  at  all  well  done!"  said  Felicia.  "Ama- 
teurs have  no  business  to  paint." 


THE  IMATING  OF  L\DIA  501 

"She  is  not  an  amateur!"  cried  Tatliam.     "She " 

Then  again  he  noticed  that  she  was  hollowed-eyed, 
and  her  hp  was  twitcliing.  Poor  Httle  girl !  —  in  her 
black  dress  —  soon  to  be  motherless  —  and  with  this 
critical  moment  in  front  of  her! 

He  came  nearer  to  her  in  the  shy,  courteous  way  that 
made  a  dissonance  so  attractive  with  his  great  height  and 
strength. 

"Dear  Felicia!  I  may,  mayn't  I?  We're  cousins. 
Don't  be  nervous  —  or  afraid.  I  think  it's  all  coming 
right." 

She  looked  at  him  angrily. 

"I'm  not  nervous  —  not  the  least  bit!  I  don't  care 
what  happens." 

And  holding  her  curly  head  absurdly  high,  she  went 
back  into  the  library,  which  Victoria,  Undershaw,  and 
Cyril  Boden  had  just  entered.  Tatham  regretted  that  he 
had  not  made  more  time  to  talk  with  her;  to  prepare  her 
mind  for  alternatives.  It  might  have  been  wiser.  But 
Faversham's  summons  had  been  sudden;  and  his  own 
expectations  were  so  vague ! 

However,  there  was  no  time  now.  Lydia  arrived,  and 
she  and  Tatham  withdrew  into  the  inner  room  for  a  few 
minutes,  deep  in  consultation.  Felicia  watched  them  with 
furious  eyes.  And  when  they  came  out  again,  a  soft  flush 
on  Lydia's  cheeks,  it  was  all  that  Felicia  could  do  to 
prevent  herself  from  rushing  upstairs  again,  leaving  them 
to  have  their  horrid  meeting  to  themselves. 

But  flight  was  barred.  Faversham  entered,  accom- 
panied by  the  senior  solicitor  to  the  Threlfall  estate  and 
by  old  Dixon,  shaking  with  nervousness,  in  a  black  Sunday 


502  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

suit.  Chairs  had  been  provided.  They  took  their  seats. 
Tatham  cleared  his  own  table. 

"No  need ! "  said  the  solicitor,  a  gentleman  with  a  broad, 
benevolent  face  slightly  girdled  by  whiskers,  "It's  very 
short!" 

And  smiling,  he  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  document 
consisting  apparently  of  two  sheets  of  square  letter  paper, 
and  amid  the  sudden  silence,  he  began  to  read. 

The  first  and  longer  sheet  was  done.  Fehcia,  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  a  stiff  chair,  her  smaU  feet  dangling,  was 
staring  at  the  lawyer.  Victoria  was  looking  at  her  son 
bewildered.  Boden  wore  an  odd  sort  of  smile.  Under- 
shaw,  impassive,  was  playing  with  his  watch-chain.  Lydia 
radiant  and  erect,  in  a  dress  of  gray-blue  tweed,  a  veil  of 
the  same  tint  falling  back  from  the  harmonious  fairness  of 
her  face,  had  her  eyes  on  Felicia.  There  was  a  melting 
kindness  in  the  eyes  —  as  though  the  maternity  deep  in 
the  girl's  nature  spoke. 

A  deed  of  gift,  inter  vivos,  conveying  the  whole  person- 
ahty  and  real  estate,  recently  bequeathed  to  Claude  Faver- 
sham  by  Edmund  Melrose,  consisting  of  so-and-so,  and 
so-and-so,  —  a  long  catalogue  of  shares  and  land  which  had 
taken  some  time  to  read  —  to  Felicia  Melrose,  daughter  of 
the  late  Edmund  Melrose,  subject  only  to  an  annuity  to  her 
mother,  Antonetta  Melrose,  of  £2,000  a  year,  to  a  pension 
for  Thomas  Dixon  and  his  wife,  and  various  other  pensions 
and  small  annuities;  Henry,  Earl  Tatham,  and  Victoria, 
Countess  Tatham,  appointed  trustees,  and  to  act  as  guar- 
dians, till  the  said  Felicia  Melrose  should  attain  the  age  of 
twenty-four;  no  mention  of  any  other  person  at  all;  the 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  503 

whole  vast  property,  precisely  as  it  had  passed  from  Mel- 
rose to  Faversham,  just  taken  up  and  dropped  in  the  lap 
of  this  httle  creature  with  the  danghng  feet  without 
reservation,  or  deduction  —  now  that  it  was  done,  and  not 
merely  guessed  at,  it  showed  plain  for  what  in  truth  it 
was  —  one  of  those  acts  wherein  the  energies  of  the  human 
spirit,  working  behind  the  material  veil,  swing  for  a  mo- 
ment into  view,  arresting  and  stunning  the  spectator. 

"But  the  collections!"  said  Tatham,  remembering  them 
almost  with  rehef,  speaking  in  his  mother's  ear;  "what 
about  the  collections?" 

"  We  come  now  to  the  second  part  of  the  deed  of  gift," 
said  the  silvery  voice  of  the  lawyer.  And  again  the 
astounded  cu'cle  set  itself  to  hsten. 

"The  collections  of  works  of  art  now  contained  in 
Threlfall  Tower,  I  also  convey  in  full  property  and  im- 
mediate possession  to  the  said  Fehcia  Melrose,  but  on  the 
following  conditions : 

"Threlfall  Tower,  or  such  portions  of  it  as  may  be 
necessary,  to  be  maintained  permanently  as  a  museum  in 
which  to  house  the  said  collection:  a  proper  museum  staff 
to  be  appointed;  a  sum  of  money,  to  be  agreed  upon  be- 
tween Claude  Faversham  and  Felicia  Melrose,  to  be  set 
aside  for  the  maintenance  of  the  building,  the  expenses  of 
installation,  and  the  endowment  of  the  staff;  and  a  set 
of  rooms  in  the  west  wing  to  be  appropriated  to  the  private 
residence  of  a  curator,  who  is  to  be  appointed,  after  the 
first  curatorship,  by " 

Certain  public  officials  were  named,  and  a  few  other 
stipulations  made.  Then  with  a  couple  of  legal  phrases 
and  a  witnessed  signature,  the  second  sheet  came  to  an  end. 


504  THE  IVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

There  was  a  silence  that  could  be  heard.  In  the  midst 
of  it  Faversham  rose.  He  was  agitated  and  a  little  in- 
coherent. 

"The  rest  of  what  has  to  be  said  is  not  a  formal  matter. 
If  Miss  Mehose,  or  her  guardians,  choose  to  make  me  the 
first  Curator  of  the  ThrelfaU  Tower  Museum,  I  am  willing 
to  accept  that  office  at  their  hands,  and  — after,  perhaps, 
a  year  —  I  should  like  to  occupy  the  rooms  I  have  men- 
tioned in  the  west  wing  —  with  the  lady  who  has  now 
promised  to  be  my  wife.  I  know  perhaps  better  than 
any  one  else  what  the  house  contains;  and  I  could  spend, 
if  not  my  fife,  at  any  rate  a  term  of  years,  in  making  the 
Tower  a  palace  of  art,  a  centre  of  design,  of  training,  of 
suggestion  —  a  House  Beautiful,  indeed,  for  the  whole 
north  of  England.  And  my  promised  wife  says  she  will 
help  me." 

He  looked  at  Lydia.  She  put  her  hand  in  his.  The 
sight  of  most  people  in  the  room  had  grown  dim. 

But  Fehcia  had  jumped  up. 

"I  don't  want  it  all!  I  won't  have  it  all!"  she  said  in 
a  passionate  excitement,  "My  father  hated  me.  I  told 
him  I  would  never  take  his  money.  Why  didn't  you  tell 
nie  —  why  didn't  you  warn  me?  "  She  turned  to  Tatham. 
her  little  body  shaking,  and  her  face  threatening  tears. 

"Why  should  Mr.  Faversham  do  such  a  thing.'*  Don't 
let  him !  —  don't  let  him !  And  I  ought  —  I  ought  — 
to  have  been  told ! " 

Faversham  and  Lydia  aj^proached  her.  But  suddenly, 
putting  her  hands  to  her  face,  she  ran  to  the  French  win- 
dow of  the  library,  opened  it,  and  rushed  into  the  garden. 

Tatham  and  his  mother  looked  at  each  other  agliast. 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  505 

"Run  after  her!"  said  Victoria  in  his  ear.  "Take 
this  shawl!"  She  handed  him  a  wrap  she  had  brought 
in  upon  her  am 

"  Yes  —  it's  Lfeuember,"  said  Boden,  smihng,  to  Lady 
Tatham;  "but  perhaps"  —  the  accent  was  ironical  — 
"when  she  comes  back  the  seasons  will  have  changed!" 

The  session  broke  up  in  excited  conversation,  of  which 
Faversham  was  the  centre. 

"This  is  final.f*"  said  Undershaw,  eying  him  keenly. 
*'You  intend  to  stand  by  it.f*" 

"Tierce  work  it  were  to  do  again!'"  said  Faversham, 
in  a  quotation  recognized  by  Undershaw,  who  generally 
went  to  bed  with  a  scientific  book  on  one  side  of  him,  and 
a  volume  of  modern  poets  on  the  other.  Faversham  was 
now  radiant.  He  stood  with  his  arm  round  Lydia.  Vic- 
toria had  her  hand. 

Meanwhile  in  the  Italian  garden  and  through  the  yew 
hedges.  Daphne  fled,  and  Apollo  pursued.  At  last  he 
caught  her,  and  she  sank  upon  a  garden  seat.  He  put 
the  shawl  round  her,  and  stood  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  surveying  her. 

"What  was  the  matter,  Felicia.?"  he  asked  her,  gently. 

"It  is  ridiculous!"  she  said,  sobbing.  "Why  wasn't  I 
asked?  I  don't  want  a  guardian!  I  won't  have  you  for 
a  guardian ! "  And  she  beat  her  foot  angrily  on  the  paved 
path. 

Tatham  laughed. 

"You'll  have  to  go  back  and  behave  nicely,  Felicia. 
Haven't  you  any  thanks  for  Faversham.?  " 

"I  never  asked  him  to  do  it!     Hov/  can  I  look  after  a!i 


506  THE  ISIATING  OF  LYDIA 

that!  It'll  kill  me.  I  want  to  sing!  I  want  to  go  on 
the  stage!" 

He  sat  down  beside  her.  Her  dark  head  covered  with 
its  silky  curls,  her  very  black  eyes  and  arched  brows  in  her 
small  pink  face,  the  pointed  chin,  and  tiny  mouth,  made  a 
very  winning  figure  of  her,  as  she  sat  there,  under  a  garden 
vase,  and  an  overhanging  yew.  And  that,  although  the 
shawl  was  huddled  round  her  shoulders,  and  the  eyes  were 
red  with  tears. 

"You  will  be  able  to  do  anything  you  hke,  Felicia. 
You  will  be  terribly  rich," 

She  gazed  at  him,  the  storm  in  her  breast  subsiding  a 
little. 

"How  rich.''"  she  asked  him,  pouting. 

He  tried  to  give  her  some  idea.  She  sighed.  "It's 
dreadful !     What  shall  I  do  with  it  all ! " 

Then  as  her  eyes  still  searched  him,  he  saw  them  change 
—  first  to  soft  —  then  wild.  Her  colour  flamed.  She 
moved  farther  from  him,  and  tried  to  put  on  a  business- 
like air. 

"I  want  to  ask  a  question." 

^'Askit.  " 

"Am  I  —  am  I  as  rich  as  any  girl  you  would  be  likely  to 
marry?" 

"  What  an  odd  question !     Do  you  think  I  want  money?'* 

"I  know  you  don't!"  she  said,  with  a  wail.  "That's 
what's  so  horrid!     Why  can't  you  all  leave  me  alone? " 

Then  recovering  herself  fiercely,  she  began  again : 

"  In  my  country  ^-  in  Italy  —  when  two  people  are 
about  equally  rich  —  a  man  and  a  girl  —  their  relations 
go  and  talk  to  each  other.     They  say,  'Will  it  suit  you? '  — 


THE  IMATING  OF  LYDIA  507 

the  man  has  so  much  —  the  girl  has  so  much  —  they  Hke 
each  other  —  and  —  wouldn't  it  do  very  well!" 

She  sprang  up,  Tatham  had  flushed.  He  looked  at  her 
in  speechless  amazement.  She  stood  opposite  him,  mak- 
ing herself  as  tall  as  she  could,  her  hands  behind  her, 

"Lord  Tatham  —  my  mother  is  ill  —  my  father  is 
dead.  You're  not  my  guardian  yet  —  and  I  don't  think 
I'll  ever  let  you  be!  So  there's  nobody  but  me  to  do 
it.  I'm  sorry  —  I  know  it's  not  quite  right,  quite  — 
quite  English.  Well,  any  way!  Lord  Tatham,  you  say 
I  have  a  dot!  So  that's  all  right.  There's  my  hand. 
Will  you  marry  me.f*" 

She  held  it  out.  All  her  excitement  had  gone,  and  her 
colour.     She  was  very  pale,  and  quite  calm. 

"My  dear  Felicia!"  cried  Tatham,  in  agitation,  taking 
the  hand,  "what  a  position  to  put  your  guardian  in! 
You  are  a  great  heiress.  I  can't  run  off  with  you  like 
this  —  before  you've  had  any  other  chances  —  before 
you've  seen  anybody  else." 

"If  you  don't,  I  won't  take  a  farthing!  What  good 
would  it  be  to  me!" 

She  came  closer,  and  put  her  little  hands  on  his  shoulders 
as  he  sat  —  the  centre  of  one  of  those  sudden  tumults  of 
sense  and  spirit  that  sweep  a  strong  man  from  his  feet. 

"  Oh,  won't  you  take  care  of  me.''     I  love  you  so ! " 

It  was  a  cry  of  Nature.  Tatham  gave  a  great  gulp,  put 
out  his  arms,  and  caught  her.  There  she  was  on  the  bench 
beside  him,  laughing  and  sobbing,  gathered  against  his 
heart. 

The  cheerful  December  day  shone  upon  them:  a  robin 
sang  in  the  yew  tree  overhead.     .     .     . 


508  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

Meanwhile  the  hbrary  was  still  full.  Nobody  had  yet 
left  it;  and  instinctively  everybody  was  watching  the 
French  window. 

Two  figures  appeared  there,  Felicia  in  front.  She  came 
in,  her  eyes  cast  down,  a  bright  spot  on  either  cheek.  And 
while  every  one  in  the  room  held  their  breath  she  crossed 
the  floor  and  paused  in  front  of  Faversham. 

"Mr.  Faversham,  I  ask  your  pardon,  that  I  was  so  rude. 

I "  A  sob  rose  in  her  throat,  and  she  stopped  a  moment 

to  control  it.  "Till  the  other  day  —  I  was  just  a  poor 
girl  —  who  never  had  a  lira  to  spend.  All  that  we  ate  — 
my  mother  and  I  —  we  had  to  work  for.  And  now  — 
you  have  made  me  rich.  It's  —  it's  very  wonderful.  I 
only  wish" — the  sob  rose  again  —  "just  that  last  time  — 
my  father  had  been  kind  to  me.  I  thank  you  with  all 
my  heart.     But  I  can't  take  it  all,  you  know  —  I  carit! " 

She  looked  at  him  appealing  —  almost  threatening. 
Faversham  smiled  at  her. 

"That  doesn't  lie  with  you!  One  of  your  trustees 
has  already  signed  the  deed  —  here  comes  the  other." 
He  pointed  to  Tatham. 

"But  he  isn't  my  trustee!"  insisted  Felicia,  the  tears 
brimming  over;  "he's " 

Tatham  came  up  to  her,  and  gravely  took  her  hand. 

Felicia  looked  at  him,  then  at  Victoria,  then  at  the 
circle  of  amazed  faces.  With  a  low  cry  of  "Mother"  she 
turned  and  fled  from  the  room,  drawing  Lady  Tatham 
with  her. 

A  little  while  later,  Lydia,  the  lawyers  and  Faversham 
having  departed,  found  herself  alone  a  moment  in  the 
library.     In  the  tumult  of  happy  excitement  which  pos- 


THE  ]\LVTING  OF  LYDIA  509 

sessed  her,  she  could  not  sit  still.  Without  any  clear 
notion  of  where  she  was  going,  she  wandered  through  the 
open  door  into  the  farther  room.  There,  with  a  start, 
and  a  flush,  she  recognized  her  own  draw^ings  —  five  of 
them  —  in  a  row.  So  here,  all  the  time,  was  her  unknown 
friend;  and  she  had  never  guessed! 

At  a  sound  in  the  room  behind,  she  turned,  hoping  it 
was  Lady  Tatham  who  had  come  back  to  her.  But  she 
saw  that  it  was  Tatham  himself.  He  came  into  the  little 
room,  and  stood  silently  beside  her,  as  though  wanting 
her  to  speak  first.  With  deep  emotion  she  held  out  her 
hand,  and  wished  him  joy;  her  gesture,  her  eyes,  all 
tenderness. 

"She  is  so  lovely  —  so  touching!  She  will  win  every- 
body's heart!" 

He  looked  down  upon  her  oddly,  like  some  one  op- 
pressed by  feelings  and  thoughts  beyond  his  own  un- 
ravelling. 

"She  has  been  very  unhappy,"  he  said  simply.  "I 
think  I  can  take  care  of  her." 

Lydia  looked  at  him  anxiously.  A  sudden  slight 
darkening  seemed  to  come  into  the  day;  and  for  one 
terrified  moment  she  seemed  to  see  Tatham  —  dear, 
generous  youth ! —  as  the  truly  tragic  figure  in  their  high 
mingled  comedy. 

Not  Melrose  —  but  Tatham !  Then,  swiftly,  the  cloud 
passed,  and  she  laughed  at  herself. 

"Take  care  of  her!  You  will  be  the  happiest  people 
in  the  world  —  save  tw^o!" 

He  let  her  talk  to  him,  the  inner  agitation  whatever  it 
was,  disappearing.     She  soothed,  she  steadied  him.     Now, 


510  THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA 

at  last,  they  were  to  be  true  friends  —  comrades  in  the 
tasks  and  difficulties  of  life.  Without  words,  her  heart 
promised  it  —  to  him  and  Felicia. 

As  they  left  the  room,  she  pointed,  smiling,  to  the 
drawings. 

"  So  you  were  the  elderly  solicitor,  with  a  taste  for  art, 
I  used  to  see  in  my  dreams!" 

His  eyes  lit  up  boyishly. 

"I  had  to  keep  them  here,  for  fear  you'd  find  out. 
Now,  we'll  hang  them  properly. " 

It  was  Victoria  who  broke  the  news  to  Netta  Melrose. 
She,  a  little  wasted  ghost  among  her  pillows,  received  it 
calmly,  yet  with  a  certain  bitterness  mingled  in  the  calm. 
What  did  the  money  matter  to  her.?  And  what  had  she 
to  do  with  this  English  world,  and  this  young  lord  FeHcia 
was  to  marry.?  Far  within,  she  hungered,  on  the  threshold 
of  death,  as  she  had  hungered  twenty  years  before,  for  the 
Italian  sun,  and  the  old  Italian  streets,  with  the  deep  eaves 
and  the  sculptured  doorways,  and  the  smells  of  leather 
and  macaroni.  Her  father  had  loved  them,  and  she  had 
loved  her  father;  all  the  more  passionately  the  more  the 
world  disowned  him.  She  sat  in  spirit  beside  his  crushed 
and  miserable  old  age,  finding  her  only  comfort  in  the 
memory  of  how  his  feeble  hands  had  clung  to  her,  how  she 
had  worked  and  starved  for  him. 

Yet,  when  Felicia  came  to  her,  she  cried  and  blessed 
her.  And  Felicia,  softened  by  happiness,  knelt  down 
beside  her,  and  begged  and  prayed  her  to  get  well.  To 
please  them  all,  Netta  made  her  nurse  do  her  hair,  and  put 
on  a  white  jacket  which  Victoria  had  embroidered  for  her. 
And  when  Tatham  came  in  to  see  her,  she  would  have 


THE  MATING  OF  LYDIA  511 

timidly  kissed  his  hand  had  he  not  been  so  quick  to  see  and 
prevent  her. 

Meanwhile  Victoria,  still  conscious  of  the  clinging 
of  Felicia's  arms  about  her,  was  comparing  —  secretly 
and  inevitably  —  the  daughter-in-law  that  might  have 
been,  with  the  daughter-in-law  that  was  to  be.  Now 
that  Fate's  throw  was  irrevocably  made,  she  found 
herself  appreciating  Lydia  as  she  had  never  done  while 
the  chances  were  still  open.  Lydia  had  refused  her 
Harry;  FeUcia  had  captured  him.  Perhaps  she  resented 
both  actions;  and  w^ould  always  —  secretly  —  resent  them. 
But  yet,  in  Lydia  —  Lydia  with  her  early  maturity,  her 
sweet  poise  and  strength  of  nature,  she  foresaw  the  com- 
panion; in  Felicia,  the  child  and  darling  of  her  old  age. 
And  looking  round  on  this  crooked  world,  she  acknowl- 
edged, now  as  always,  that  she  had  got  more  than  she 
deserved,  more  —  much  more  —  than  her  share. 

A  conviction  that  Cyril  Boden  did  his  best  to  sharpen 
in  her.  With  the  invincible  optimism  of  his  kind,  he 
scoffed  at  the  misgivings  which  she  confided  to  him,  and 
to  him  only,  on  the  score  of  Felicia's  lack  of  training,  her 
touchy  and  passionate  temper,  and  the  little  unscrupulous 
ways  that  offended  a  fastidious  observer. 

"What  does  it  matter?"  he  said  to  her  — "she  is  in  love 
—  head  over  ears.  You  and  he  can  make  of  her  what  you 
like.  She  will  beat  him  if  he  looks  at  anybody  else; 
but  she  will  have  ten  children,  and  never  have  a  thought 
or  an  interest  that  isn't  his.     And  as  to  the  money " 

"  Yes  —  the  money ! "  said  Victoria,  dejectedly.  "  Wliat 
on  earth  vnW  they  do  with  it  all.'  Harry  is  so  rich  already." 

"Do  with  it!"  Boden  turned  upon  her.     "Grow  a  few 


512  THE  jVIATING  OF  LYDIA 

ideas  in  your  landlord  garden !  Turn  the  ground  of  it  — 
enrich  it  —  change  it  —  try  experiments !  How  long  will 
this  England  leave  the  land  to  you  landowners,  unless  you 
bring  some  mind  to  it  —  aye,  and  the  best  of  your  souls! 
you  —  the  nation's  servants!  Here  is  a  great  tract  left 
desolate  by  one  man's  wickedness.  Restore  the  waste 
places  —  build  —  people  —  teach !  Heavens,  what  a 
chance ! "  His  eyes  kindled.  "And  when  Faversham  and 
Lydia  come  back  —  yoke  them  in  too.  Curator!  — stuff! 
If  he  won't  own  that  estate,  make  him  govern  it,  and  play 
the  man.  Disinterested  power!  —  with  such  a  wife  — 
and  such  a  friend!  Could  a  man  ask  better  of  the  gods! 
Now  is  your  moment.  Rural  England  turns  to  you,  its 
natural  leaders,  to  shape  it  afresh.  Shirk  —  refuse  — 
at  your  peril ! " 


THE    END 


THE  CODNTRY  LIFE   PRESS,  GARDEN   CITY,  N.  Y 


^IVEKSITV  or  CALIFORNIA  L.BRAEV 

THIS  BOOK  IS  piJ^™^^^^^*^^ 

STAMPED  BELOW 


\S1. 


"^.r 


r"-\  f?  ^in 


\  'Jtil    5  1969  0  Z 


SEP  ^^  ^^^' 

NOV    7  ISV/ 
SEP  25 1918 

NOV  891929 


30m-6,'l-l 


258058 


^:''-C;:i^-'^       '^'  ;^^i^^-'5^??-:f:gi^^ 


